


Restoration

by phylos



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, F/M, From season 8 onwards, Post-Canon, Until Season 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-01 12:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13294908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phylos/pseuds/phylos
Summary: A chronicle of the Targaryen Restoration - handled by Lady Regent Sansa Stark - and other events in Westeros after the Great War and the Tale of Two Queens, from the perspective of an unlikely lord.





	1. The not-so-unlikely Lord Protector

"I am to what, my lord?" Pod asked. He must have misheard or this was another of Lord Tyrion's jokes.

A shadow of a smile crossed Tyrion's features, it was obvious he was greatly enjoying this, but he was otherwise completely serious. "You're to wed Lady Stark."

So he did hear correctly. He looked from Lord Tyrion towards the castle and back to Lord Tyrion, then he looked behind him. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to stammer. "Wh... what? how? Why? Why me?"

"I'm glad you ask, it would have been boring coming to Winterfell again if I didn't get to explain things". Tyrion sported a smug smile as he walked around the Weirwood tree. "The North being an independent Kingdom again is not entirely good for the realm, she and I have decided, but the only way for the Northern Lords to accept submitting, again, to the Iron Throne is if their chosen leader gets to sit in it or marry whoever sits in it. While lady Sansa can't very much become queen of the Seven Kingdoms because her nephew, although a newborn, is alive and already declared Jon Targaryen, First of His Name, she _can_ become his Regent, which was actually what the Mother of Dragons declared before her death."

"Not sure I follow." The confusing nature of dynastic tunnels made his head hurt sometimes. "But I still don't see how that means I am to marry her, or why she would even want to marry me."

"I wasn't finished." Tyrion replied with a look. "The Lady holds no delusions of the Northern Lords actually accepting her leaving for King's Landing again unless there's, and I quote, a 'Stark in Winterfell'; it was thanks to her remaining in Winterfell that they even acquiesced to Jon Snow leaving for Dragonstone at all. Her first choice was to ask lady Arya to hold the castle but I believe the younger Stark just laughed in her face before declaring she was no lady. She also told her sister of her intentions to travel. Indeed, she left for the Stormlands alongside Gendry Baratheon - they're friends apparently - this morning.

"That left Lady Stark in a pickle, as neither she nor her sister can very much be in two places at the same time. I suggested then that the Northern Lords might be placated if she left with the promise of a Stark returning to Winterfell _eventually_ , and to leave the castle in the hands of someone she trusted and the Lords respected. Luckily, there's such a someone and Lady Stark has already gotten the affirmative from Lady Mormont, who was about to leave for Bear Island but will now remain in Winterfell until Lady Stark produces an heir she can send here."

"But still why me? I'm sure pretty much every lord..." Pod started saying.

"However," Tyrion continued, raising his voice to drown the interruption, "that in itself presents a problem. Sansa needs to send someone who would continue the Stark name and any child born from the lord of a Major House would have his name instead of hers. Conversely, the Lords would never accept her marrying a commoner. That only leaves the option of a knightly house: just noble enough to hope that the Lords won't protest, much, but still outranked enough by her to pass her name to the children. As soon as we arrived to that conclusion, her words were, 'well, good thing we already know someone from a knightly house, who is loyal, and was even anointed recently and can protect me.'" Tyrion paused for a moment with a meaningful look. "Is she wrong, _Ser_ Podrick?"

Pod was at a loss for words. He still couldn't completely follow, but the little he knew of politics told him that what he managed to understand made sense; it was better to trust Lord Tyrion on the matter anyway. Sitting down on the floor, in front of the lake, he nodded as answer to Tyrion's question.

"That's good to know. Congratulations by the way, I assume it was the Lady herself who anointed you?" Tyrion inquired with an indulgent smile.

"Yes, in her authority as Queen in the North. Lady Brienne vouched for me." Pod answered in a small voice.

"Things are coming up Pod, then! So, what do you say?" Tyrion asked, openly smiling.

"What?" Once again he was stammering. "You mean I can refuse?"

Tyrion raised his eyebrows and smiled again. "Of course you can! Lady Stark is not about to force someone from her household to do something against his will. So, do you have it in you to wed the most powerful person of the Seven Kingdoms, who also happens to be the most beautiful woman of the Realm?"

Put it that way, it was a no brainer. Marrying Lady Stark was what probably every lad in Winterfell had dreamed of; getting to call her his wife was more than he could have ever managed to aspire or achieve in life. Just the picture of their sharing their vows made him smile. But then the wedding night would come and, with it, her previous marriage. He could make her enjoy his company, but there was the real possibility that she wouldn't even let him try.

He cleared his throat, grabbed one of the fallen tree leaves and spoke. "Is there a reason she didn't tell me this in person?"

"For once, she's very busy. Not that I am not busy either," Tyrion said with a tired look, "but she also considered the notion 'extremely embarrassing', specially if you were to reject her. She didn't want to soil your presence at her house in case that happened."

That was almost as shocking as everything else that had just been said. The notion of the lady not wanting to change how she thought about him was almost completely alien to him. He had always felt like a fly on the wall among all these important people; he never expected them to notice him in turn, at least not beyond his services as squire and knight.

He threw the leaf into the lake. "But what about her marriage to you, my lord?"

"That was an unconsummated sham," Tyrion snorted, "we've just given the signed annulment papers to the septon."

Bolton was dead and, as such, there was nothing else to ask. Looking at the lake, he sighed and whispered, "In that case I think... yes. I accept."

Tyrion smirked. "Are you sure? Keep in mind that you will be the Ruling Consort of the Realm. Essentially the third most important person after the infant King and the Lady herself. You'll probably have a bigger bullseye on your back than I do as the Hand."

Pod felt panic overwhelming him and started sweating even more profusely than he was already doing. He looked at Tyrion, who was still smirking with a mischievous glint in his eye. Pod steeled himself -Lord Tyrion might be making a jape, but he probably wasn't wrong- and managed to choke out an "I'm sure."

"Wonderful! I'll give the Lady the good news and tell Davos to arrange everything for a wedding in two days."

"Two... two... two days?!" He stammered. "Isn't that a bit too soon? I'd have thought at least a... fortnight?"

"Of course not, Pod. There's a Kingdom to rule! The King is safe and sound in Dragonstone with what's left of the Kingsguard and Lady Brienne for now, but the Lady Regent needs to go to King's Landing as soon as possible and bring the King with her. Most of the Unsullied and the Dothraki have already taken their leave from their encampments in the Blackwater Rush, declaring explicitly that they were loyal to the Mother of Dragons but now there's no more Dragons and no more Mother. Sadly, the Queen didn't get much of a chance to rule and carry out her plans to integrate those people into our society. Another war is upon us."

Tyrion had started the little speech in a cheerful mood, but now his face looked almost as scared as Podrick's own face, looking back at him with a frown from the lake water. With a solemn nod, Lord Tyrion departed the Godswood.

Later that day, during supper, Pod was approached in one of the tables by a handmaiden who told him that Lady Stark wished him to join her in the battlements after dining. He looked at the high table but Lady Stark seemed to be deep in conversation with Lord Tyrion and Lord Tarly. He smiled ruefully and went back to his food.

He arrived at the battlements first and spent a few minutes looking over the countryside, admiring the rapidly thawing snow. His smile became sad for all those who were lost while defeating the Night King, paying with their lives for cutting the winter short. He didn't have much time to dwell on their memories, however, as he heard steps approaching. He looked to his right, feeling goosebumps, and saw Lady Stark walking towards him, followed at a respectable distance by her two handmaidens.

He, as subtly as he could, looked her up and down for the umpteenth time. Damn she was easy on the eyes. His scan made him notice that, while wearing a serious expression, she also had the tiniest hint of a smile and her cheeks seemed a bit flushed. Maybe, despite her regal appearance and all the authority she commanded, she was as apprehensive for their nuptials as he was? They _were_ roughly the same age after all. No, that was foolish, she had already been forced to marry twice before and had had to endure the Lannisters, the Boltons and Littlefinger. There was no way for him to gauge what she was feeling right now; the best he could do, from then on, was trying to understand.

"Ser," she greeted, turning to look in the same direction he was looking at before she arrived.

"My Lady." He answered, also looking over The North but still stealing glances at her.

"Lord Tyrion has told me of your agreement. I hope he wasn't too forward in informing you."

Pod couldn't keep from snorting. "Well, Lord Tyrion is... Lord Tyrion."

Sansa smiled at that. "Yes, that he is. Have you considered this thoroughly? I don't want to impose anything you might not want. I've heard stories about your conquests that you might not want to give up."

He looked in her direction with raised eyebrows, she definitely wasn't about wasting time. "My Lady, I won't deny I'm not entering the marriage a maiden. But until my last day, I won't know a bed that isn't yours. You have my word as a knight and as someone who's been in service of your family for years."

Now she openly blushed at his talk of beds. Pod smiled inwardly.

"I know, Ser. I wouldn't dare doubt your faithfulness; you can of course be certain of mine." Pod raised his eyebrows again but she continued before he could interrupt her. "I was more talking about the issue of having to keep faithfulness at all, I wouldn't want to force that choice on you unless you're completely certain."

He exhaled before smiling at her. "My Lady, I thank you for your kindness but there's really no choice at all. I am just the last son of a poor knightly house, I was never really expected to amount to anything. I would be a complete fool if I were to refuse the opportunity to marry the woman who's both the most powerful and the most beautiful of the Seven Kingdoms. What else could I possibly need?"

"You're too kind," she said, smiling. Then a frown marred her face. "We don't know each other beyond your service as a knight to me and my siblings. I pray to the Old Gods and the New that we can make this marriage work."

He breathed deeply and nodded, turning back to look over the battlements. "I hope so too. You know you have my loyalty and I will do everything I can to help you and not to bring you any discomfort."

"I shall do the same for you."

At twilight, two days later, Lady Sansa Stark was married to Ser Podrick Payne beside the weirwood tree as per the rites of the Old Gods of the Forest.

Once the marriage was official, Tyrion spoke: "As Hand of the King named by Queen Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, I transfer my duties as regent for King Jon Targaryen, first of his name, and as protector of the realm to the newlyweds. Long live the Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and the Lord Protector of the Realm, and may the gods bless them with a large progeny!"


	2. First Night

Pod felt his trepidation growing throughout the ceremony, becoming utterly anxious once it ended. It didn't help that he could feel Sansa getting similarly tense as they approached her chambers. For a second he hoped she'd just send him to his new room, next to hers, instead of trying to consummate the marriage right away, but she held her door open for him after getting inside. He looked into her eyes and, seeing a sudden spark of determination, he steeled himself. He decided to just trust his instincts as they had never failed him in the bedroom, he hoped they would work with a noblewoman too, specially one with such a disastrous previous marriage.

Once inside, he turned to her, she was now leaning on the closed door looking directly at a spot in the floor between them. He felt that he had to wait for her to make a move, even if it took all night, so he just stood unmoving in the middle of the room, carefully avoiding her gaze as he felt that, if she caught him looking intently at her, she might be off-putted. After a minute or so, she took a deep breath and finally lifted her eyes. On cue, he stopped looking at the door behind her and met her gaze. This seemed to encourage her as she finally left the door and approached him in a couple of hesitant steps.

When she was right in front of him, he felt that, while he had to wait for her every move, he could encourage her, so he broke their held gaze to look at her lips for a split second before lifting his eyes again. The insinuation was clear, and she took it. Tentatively, she brought her lips on top of his in a featherly kiss. She separated almost immediately but, still looking at his eyes, she closed the distance again. There were several kisses like this, each longer than the last, until she felt comfortable enough to maintain the kiss and delicately place a hand on his right shoulder.

Feeling the time for another insinuation, he opened his mouth a little bit to let his tongue escape for a moment and lick her top lip just for an instant. She recoiled, slightly startled, before licking her lip with her own tongue -an action that caused a stirring in his groin- and deciding she liked it, as he expected. She came back for another kiss, now with her mouth slightly parted. After another moment of trepidation, she brought her tongue into his mouth, and he promptly answered by fending off her tongue with his. He felt his arousal growing when she moaned.

Slowly, she seemed to lose her self-consciousness, her right hand was now firmly gripping his shoulder just as her left hand went to the back of his neck, as if to hold him in position. He answered the contact by, ever so slowly, placing his own hands on her hips, at which she came even closer to the point that their bodies were essentially mashed together. This, in turn, made her aware of their clothes, so she moved back half a step to place her hands on the laces of his doublet. He placed his forehead on hers, first looking at her eyes and then following her gaze towards his laces, that she was untying carefully, seeming lost in the idea of undressing someone. He had never really been self-conscious about his body but at this moment, somewhere at the back of his mind, he was thankful that the war and the winter had given him a somewhat leaner appearance.

Finally, she finished untying his doublet and, with the same dainty touch, she opened it enough for him to shrug it off. She made eye contact again as she caressed his torso before running her hands along his arms. He felt goosebumps all over and, taking a little of the lead for the first time, he kissed her as his hands returned to her hips, making slow circling motions with his thumbs. Soon it became clear she wasn't happy with just removing his doublet, as he felt her hands slowly trailing downwards to the border of his breeches. She seemed to be lost in the kiss, though, as she went a little pass that and accidentally caressed his cock through his clothes. She clearly hadn't been expecting that, at least not as early, as she reacted as if she had been burned, breaking the kiss and taking a step back, blushing furiously.

He again followed his instincts and, instead of getting close to her again, just stared at her to gauge what she'd do next. She seemed to be in an inner battle, as her eyes alternatively were aimed straight at his groin before darting away, just to look back again, as if to make sure it was still there. He suppressed the smile that almost broke into his face and, instead, followed her lead and proceeded to look alternatively between her body, particularly her breasts, and her eyes. Finally, he caught her eyes for a second before dropping his eyes to her bosom again, hoping the message had been clear.

It had been clear and, noticeably steeling herself again, while still giving furtive looks to his groin -even if his erection had grown somewhat less evident- she slowly turned and placed her hair on her shoulder, the invitation obvious. He inwardly celebrated the small victory that was the fact that she was now turning her back to him; he was slowly gaining her trust. As delicately as he could manage, he unlaced her dress and, just as delicately, placed his hands on her shoulders to help her shrug it off. The shift she was wearing underneath was a little transparent, which allowed him his first glimpse at her body.

As he was staring at her ass, she turned to face him again, and came closer for another kiss. Her hands went for his arms and latter his back, once again provoking goosebumps. For his part, he grabbed her hips again, now getting a much closer feel of her skin, which in turn emboldened him a bit to explore by letting his hands run across her back and the back of her neck. Before long, she was untying his breeches before giving them a little push so they'd fall to the floor on their own, after which she broke the kiss to look down between them. He didn't bother to follow her gaze and instead tried to read her expression. It was one of simultaneous apprehension and arousal; he had expected worse so he couldn't complaint.

After a moment, she looked back at him, catching him staring intently at her. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment before he gave her a quick peck and then, startling her a little, he knelt without breaking eye contact. She seemed about to protest whatever he was going to do when she noticed he was just untying his boots. He gave her his cheekiest smile which, thankfully, got her to smile in return. His boots unlaced, he stood back up, getting out of both boots and breeches in two smooth steps, which in turn allowed him to turn her around so now he was the one with his back to the door while she was in front of the bed. Without missing a beat, he was kissing her again, this time letting his tongue get into her mouth, eliciting another moan.

He was doubtful he'd get her to take her shift off and was expecting to just consummate the marriage by moving the skirt upwards until he had free access, so he was pleasantly surprised when, timidly, she unlaced it. He knew she was staring directly at him but he simply couldn't, nor would have wanted to, remove his gaze from her body as she opened the shift and let it fall. She really was a beautiful woman. After having thoroughly committed her body to memory with his gaze, he made eye contact with her. She seemed hesitant so he just stepped closer, careful to keep his groin away from her, and kissed her.

As she relaxed into the kiss, he allowed himself to let their bodies come together... and he was reminded immediately that they were almost the same height as he felt his cock rubbing against her cunt. She gasped at this and looked down in surprise. He studied her reaction once again and was happy to note that she seemed less apprehensive and more interested now; she had liked the contact. He also noted she was wet, another small victory that had come earlier than he expected. He placed his index finger on her chin to get her to look at him again, and started another kiss.

She was getting increasingly relaxed with every new contact, as evidenced by one of her hands dropping from his hip to his buttock while a finger of her other hand was tracing the length of his dick. Now was his time to gasp, but he carried the momentum by daintily, almost as if by accident, moving his own hands from her hips to her butt. It wasn't long before he started squishing, and she promptly moaned into his mouth again.

Feeling that she was almost completely open to him, he started treading the ground for his taking the lead completely. Slowly, he moved away from kissing her mouth to kissing the side of her face and finally landing on her neck. It didn't take him long to find a spot she seemed to enjoy and, after kissing a licking for a bit, he replicated the process in the other side of her neck. She had stopped roaming her hands through his body and was now firmly gripping his shoulder blades, which he took as a sign to go lower. Bending his knees a bit, he found himself right in front of her breasts. He looked up, catching her eyes, just as he ever so slowly licked her right nipple. She let out a gasp, followed by a small strangled moan as he caught the nipple in his lips, still not breaking eye contact. She was now grabbing his shoulders hard enough to leave bruise, while his own hands continued with exploration of their own. His left hand was leaving feathery touches along the length of her legs, expediently untying her slippers, just as his right hand proceeded to grab her left nipple between index and thumb.

Finally breaking eye contact, he gave his full attention to her breasts: alternating between them and switching kisses for licks and touches. Feeling bold, he pinched one, eleciting a lovely combination of groan and moan, before looking at her with another cheeky grin. She was now completely in his hands, he could feel it, and so he stood up straight again and, placing one hand on the small of her back and the other on her hip, he guided her down to the bed. He was on top of her, once again staring into her eyes as she stared back. He couldn't deny he was dying to push inside her, but knew she wasn't quite aroused enough to completely enjoy the experience. He gave her a quick peck before travelling along the length of her body with his lips and tongue, this time going further south, until he was level with her cunt.

He renewed eye contact with her as he let his tongue give the subtlest of touches to her nub. She inhaled deeply at the sensation, but she didn't break eye contact either. He then repeated the maneuver several times, slowly circling it, flicking it a bit and finally placing his lips on it to suck ever so slightly, not missing even one of her reactions to his ministrations. Satisfied, he moved to her folds, proceeding to kiss and lick all over, finding that he liked the taste of her. She was now moaning openly without bothering to restrain herself, a third victory for him, which was itself his cue to start probing her entrance with a finger. She now had her eyes firmly closed, lost in sensation, as he was making different motions with his index finger inside her, and then with both index and middle fingers. Her moans were growing shorter and shallower, telling him she was nearing climax.

For a moment he considered bringing her pleasure only with his mouth and fingers, but, trusting again his instincts, he doubted she'd want to keep going afterwards so not only they wouldn't get to actually consummate but, more importantly, he would have to get himself off with his hand and he felt that if he didn't get to fuck her properly tonight, he'd die. So, knowing also that he was too aroused, and too long without a woman's touch, to last long enough to get her off just with his cock, he continued stimulating her by moving his fingers inside her while licking her nub until he knew she was on the border of collapse. He then pulled his fingers off and moved up to face her. She opened her eyes with a look of protest, but he didn't give her the time to lose her arousal as he gave her the most passionate kiss he could muster while, simultaneously, guiding his cock into her.

She opened to his invasion, giving his cock the sweet agony of her tight cunt, and her eyes opened even more, surprised at the sensation. Something in the back of his mind told him that this was probably the first time she'd felt a cock inside her without it hurting, but he dismissed the thought as not one worth having. He bottomed out, still kissing her, and felt a shudder all over his body as her muscles massaged him, getting used to him.

Feeling they were ready, he pulled back, drove into her again and, victory of victories, he sensed her climax. All his work paid off as she broke the kiss to let out a long, sustained moan, just as he felt her cunt contracting and spasming around him.

Driven wild by the sensation, and not one to miss an opportunity, he fucked her as hard and fast as he could. As he hoped, she reached another climax while grabbing his hips tightly, and more followed soon, to the point that he was sure that all of his movements were causing her to come. Sadly, he couldn't keep the streak going for long as, after just a few minutes, he felt his balls contracting and, with a single strangled utterance of 'Sansa' in her ear, while closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling, he exploded into her in one of the best ruttings of his life. As if on cue, the feel of his seed inside her brought her off one last time, at which she gave a little yell that sounded like either an invocation to the gods or his nickname. He wasn't really sure, too focused in his own sensations, his cock as deep in her as it could possibly go, his back arched, and all of his muscles taut.

Finally, he felt all the energy leaving his body and collapsed on top of her, enjoying the outset of afterglow as his cock deflated while still inside her. He was partially aware of the notion that she might not like his weight on top of her now, but she wasn't protesting and, in fact, he felt her hands lazily caressing his back. Nevertheless, after a few moments he gathered enough strength to roll to her side, rolling her too so they were face to face.

She opened her eyes after a moment and looked at him, wearing a spent but satisfied expression he was sure mirrored his own. "I never would have thought it could be like this."

"Me neither." She gave him an odd look. "I mean, I've been told I'm good but I don't think I ever managed to get a woman to climax that many times before. At least not in one coupling."

 She seemed to consider that for a moment before shrugging. "I'd really like to have more, but I'm exhausted."

"Aye, me too," he agreed and moved to get out of the bed.

"What are you doing?"

He looked at her. "I thought you'd want me to go to my chambers."

She hesitated for a moment. "Would you like to stay?"

"I'd be glad but do you want me to?"

"Yes, I'd like to."

Just like that, he dropped back in the bed and, moving awkwardly, brought the blankets on top of them. Not a minute later they were sound asleep.


	3. Restaffing

"Sansa," he muttered, sleepily. The bed in the inn wasn't nearly as comfortable as Sansa's bed in Winterfell, but the feeling of her naked body draped on top of him right after sex offset pretty much any discomfort. So much so he was having trouble staying awake, but he kept talking anyway.

"Hmm?" She answered, clearly dozing off too.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing."

She brought up her head to rest her chin on her arms, crossed above his chest, and looked at him with a small smile. "Really? Because I always feel like you can read my body and predict what I want you to do."

He couldn't keep himself from smirking. "I meant outside. I know I'm supposed to have a role in the Kingdom now, but I don't know what it is beyond following you and sharing your bed."

Her eyes were distant for a moment before she looked back at him. "Yes, I've been thinking so too. It's not as if a title like yours has happened since before the Conquest, but it's not completely unheard of in a smaller scale. I discussed it yesterday with Tyrion and Sam and we all agree that you'd be welcome in the Small Council. I was waiting for the right time to approach the issue so I'm glad you brought it up. You _are_ my husband, I'd like to hear your counsel and thoughts."

"Lord Tarly?" He asked. "Is he in the Council?

She nodded and explained. "Oh, yes, after our wedding the Small Council was essentially just Tyrion and I. Among Cersei's many faults that drove the realm into the ground, one of the biggest was not having appropriate counsel, so one of our top priorities is to restaff. Sam is the new Master of Laws and we're considering Ser Davos for Master of Coin; we'll discuss it with him tomorrow. I think they are both well suited for the positions and they also fit nicely with my goal of making the Council full with as many different perspectives as possible. So far we have a Stark, a Lannister, a former member of the Night's Watch and an elevated commoner from Flea Bottom. Which brings us back to you, a regular knight who traveled the Kingdoms during the wars."

"A 'regular' knight?" He asked, raising his eyebrows and smiling a little, but avoiding her gaze. "You're probably right, I'm not that special as a knight."

She stretched and gave him a peck on the lips. "A  _great_  knight who knows the consequences of war and has both mingled with the smallfolk and lived in the wilderness."

"Brienne did that, I merely followed her." He was still looking at the roof instead of at her.

"I know and I already have something in mind for her, but it's your role what we're discussing right now." She grabbed his cheek to make him look back at her.

"So, the Small Council?" He traced a hand through her red hair. 

She leaned into his touch and, eyes closed, asked, "Is it something you've considered?"

"Well, I did promise to help you in whatever way I can and so far I've been feeling pretty useless. Yes, not _that_ useless." He added the last part after feeling her lazily grinding against him.

"So, you will join?" She moved up slightly to bury her face in his neck.

He smelled her hair, closing his eyes, before he replied. "But what position could I even have? I have no contacts nor I know how to really talk to people before being talked to first, so I'd be a pretty worthless Master of Whisperers. I can't very much join the Kingsguard as a married man, much less as Lord Commander..."

She turned her head to look towards the door and traced her fingers over his arm. "Don't mind that, Tyrion already has someone in mind as the Spider's replacement. I was considering two positions that might suit you: One is as a Master of War. I know, it's not permanent, but we are at war and we need someone to organize the armies."

He moved his hips slightly to give himself room. "I've never really led an army, I've only participated in battles as a foot soldier. I guess I can learn but..."

"I know, that was actually my second choice." She elaborated, taking her turn smelling his hair before she went on. "A position that would come closer to your wheelhouse and with the added bonus of helping you get a feel of commanding an army, even if a small one, is as Commander of the City Watch."

"I wasn't aware the position had a seat in the Small Council." He wasn't aware of much of anything right then, she was grinding against him again.

She pushed into his chest to sit up and straddled him. "It's usually just to report on the City itself and not to genuinely participate in discussion but I don't think anyone will have a problem with the Commander having voice and vote if he also happens to be Lord Protector of the Realm."

"Commander of the City Watch..." He repeated, more to himself than anything, and smiled while his hands traveled across her body. "I guess that's something I can learn to do."

"Lovely," she said as she dropped down to give him a lingering kiss. They didn't talk much after that, but didn't go to sleep until well over an hour later.

The next morning he officially attended his first meeting in the Small Council alongside the Lady, Lords Tarly and Lannister and Ser Seaworth. They were sitting at a makeshift table in a room while the inn had been emptied to prevent prying ears.

"My Lady, my lords. First order of business," Tyrion recited, "we officially welcome the Lord Protector into the small council as the new Commander of the City Watch. Took you long enough, Pod."

"Thank you, my lord," he said, blushing.

"Now," Sansa proceeded, "Ser Davos, you must be wondering why we invited you into the meeting today."

Davos nodded respectfully. "Indeed I am, my lady. I am curious as to why I'm needed in King's Landing at all but I'm sure you'll let me know when the time is right."

"The time is now, and you're here because I am offering you the position of Master of Coin."

Davos opened his eyes so wide his eyebrows almost blended with his hairline. "My lady, you honor me, but I'm sure there're plenty of people more capable than I am."

"Perhaps, but none who've shown your loyalty or the capacity to talk the Iron Bank of Braavos into giving a loan to a man who had essentially lost the war he was fighting." Ser Davos looked down. "I'm deeply sorry for your losses, Ser Davos, but if I am to govern the Seven Kingdoms until my nephew comes of age, I need to be direct and honest and I must surround myself with competent and loyal advisors. You've proved yourself to be both and I'd love to have you at my side. Specially in a position that, I feel, requires understanding and sympathy for the smallfolk amongst whom you grew up."

Davos shook his head. "You're too kind, my lady. But for all that I'm a bit good with words, I only learned to read when I was already an old man and my math is not much better."

"You're a former smuggler, Ser Davos." Sansa noted, arching an eyebrow. "I'm sure that, in your travels, you've come into contact with your fair share of accountants and moneylenders. It would be foolish of me not to expect my advisors to have advisors of their own."

Davos smiled at that. "You're wise, my lady; the realm could not be in better hands."

"So I take it you accept the position," Sansa inquired.

"I would be honored, my lady."

Sansa nodded, smiling radiantly. "Wonderful, that makes five of us; we're halfway there. Were you able to contact the future Master of Whisperers, lord Tyrion?"

"I sent him a raven before we left Winterfell. I presume he'll need a bit of convincing to leave his keep and his wife, as the last time a Lannister contacted him my brother took both from him. Don't you worry, I already plan to tell him that he has _your_ word, not mine, that you'll give him Casterly Rock if I were to remove his standing again," Lord Tyrion informed with a deadpan.

Pod gave a nervous snort and Sansa chuckled before speaking again. "That's very good to hear. I hope I get a similar reply from the Pyke when we get to King's Landing for the position of Master of Ships. In fact, I hope they do one over and we get to actually meet with him there."

"So, that leaves the Master of War and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The Citadel will provide the Grand Maester," Tyrion pointed out.

"On the Master of War," Lord Tarly said, speaking for the first time, "I've been thinking and I think I might have someone in mind, my lady."

Sansa sat back slightly and nodded for Sam to continue.

Sam seemed enthusiastic and grew more so as he spoke. "I think he's a great choice, my lady. If everyone we have contacted accepts, I've noticed that we would not only have people with many different backgrounds, but also representatives of pretty much every faction that has participated in the wars that have been fought since the death of King Robert, except for the Dragon Queen." Pod noticed Tyrion was about to interject but Sam made a calming gesture as he continued. "I'm aware that Lord Tyrion was her Hand but, during a big portion of the wars, he was a bannerman of King Joffrey and fought for House Lannister. This person is more purely associated with her as he met her in Essos at the start of her ascension. In turn, this also brings the perspective of someone who, while westerosi, has some of Essos in him."

"I hadn't considered that." Sansa said. "So, who is this man you have in mind?"

"Mormont?" Tyrion said before Sam could reply. "That poor man, I'm a bit shocked he didn't go mad after the Queen died. And for that reason I don't think we'll get him away from her son."

"We can try." Sam shrugged. "There's more than one way to try to preserve the Queen's legacy. He'll probably listen to that."

Tyrion looked between Sansa and Sam before nodding, mostly to himself, and saying, "Good, we'll send raven to Dragonstone as soon as we get to King's Landing, then."

"As for the Kingsguard," Sansa said, "Sam, I'm going to need you to arrange a meeting with whatever remains of the Faith in King's Landing. I will also need you to look into knightly orders and the laws that established them, as well as knighthood itself."

"What are you thinking of, my lady?" Tyrion asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You'll see. We'll discuss it directly with the Septons." Sansa smiled to herself while looking at the table. It was evident they were not going to get more information on the matter out of her. Pod decided to inquire about her plan later, in private.

"I see," Tyrion said after looking at Sansa for a moment, "anything else to discuss?"

"Shouldn't we be discussing what to do about the Dothraki and the Unsullied, as well as the regions that are still without leadership?" Pod asked.

"Indeed we should," Tyrion answered, "but an inn in the middle of nowhere is not a place I'd discuss military issues, no matter how much we're sure nobody's listening."

"Good point," Pod conceded.

"That will be the first order of business as soon as we get to King's Landing," Sansa added, smiling at Pod.

"Good, then." He nodded at his wife.

"I guess we're dismissed for the day. Thank you all," Tyrion proclaimed and everyone stood up.

Afterwards, the caravan finished packing and took off. Podrick was riding a horse next to Sansa's carriage, the only one of the traveling noblemen doing so; every other rider was of the official or personal watch of the assorted lords.

"What do you think?" Sansa asked from the door of her carriage.

He first looked at their surroundings and at the horizon for signs of anything amiss and, seeing nothing, answered, "It's more complicated than I expected. I suppose I used to believe that things just happened because Kings and Lords commanded them. I guess I stupidly thought they were magical or something, not connecting the dots with the idea that I wasn't the only one carrying their orders."

"It's not stupid, most people think that. _I_ used to think that, and I was raised in one of the nine main castles." Sansa told him.

"Maybe it's because they don't mention that in the songs," he said with a smile.

"Probably," she replied, chuckling slightly.

He looked at the horizon again, that time not really focusing on anything. "Makes you think how the situation would be if most people _didn't_ believe such things and were more aware of the world."

"Indeed," she agreed, her gaze also lost in the distance.


	4. Heroic Deeds

 "Sorry, milord, I don't think I'm a good sparring partner for ya." The guard groaned as he was standing back up for the fourth time using his stick as support.

Besides a few skirmishes, where he barely handled himself, and the Army of the Dead, who hadn't been big on anything other than attacking brutishly, he had only fought with Brienne when she was teaching him. He'd never be as good as she was, not even remotely, but that time she called him "competent" was still among his greatest achievements. It was now apparent that it was an even greater accomplishment than it seemed before: "competent" for Brienne of Tarth meant that he was better, much better than the average guard. They were approaching Moat Cailin when they stopped for dinner, and he had taken the opportunity to practice. So far, sparring looked a lot like throwing the guard to the ground repeatedly.

Pod looked at the guard for a moment, then at his own stick, then towards a group of guards who were talking among them. "How about a little help?"

The guard nodded, finally standing up straight.

He nodded back and, addressing the talking guards, exclaimed. "Oy, you! Damon, right? Would you give your mate a hand?"

Damon hurriedly found a stick for himself and, after a moment of discussion, both guards charged him simultaneously. They made the mistake of running too close together so he jumped to the side, ducking and extending his leg causing one to trip, which in turn caused the other one to trip.

Pod inwardly thanked Bronn for his lessons and, smiling, he waited until the guards stood back up. The first one, Myke, seemed angry and instructed Damon to attack separately, so they could come towards Pod from different directions, which they promptly did. Pod didn't wait for them, choosing instead to run and meet Damon, catching him by surprise and allowing him, Pod, to parry his stick with one hand and then punch him square in the face with the other before turning around just on time to block Myke, whom he proceeded to kick in the knee and headbutt, clashing their helmets. Myke lost his balance and fell to his knees again.

"Fuck!" said Myke, more in anger than in pain. He was armored after all. "Milord, who taught ya to fight?"

"Lady Brienne of Tarth mostly. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater gave me some tips too," Pod answered while getting into position again.

"Damn, I heard that the Maid of Tarth beat both the Kingslayer and the Knight of Flowers in single combat," one guard who was watching the practice commented.

"Isn't that Blackwater fellow the sellsword who was so good he became a lord?" A different guard asked.

Pod could only nod and shrug his shoulders. As far as simplifications went, those weren't that bad.

"How about three of us, milord?" Another guard offered.

"I don't think I'll pull it off but it won't hurt, much, to try I reckon," Podrick accepted. He noticed then that around half the guard was now watching his sparring session. He wondered why until his three sparring partners took position and the spectators immediately turned their heads toward him. They were watching him fight, a fact that made him blush. He chose to focus on his opponents.

Damon came from his left, Myke from his right and the third one, Thod, from directly in front of him. He managed to dodge Myke, angling his leg to make him trip, and parry Thod away, but Damon got to hit him on the side. He, however, used his momentum to completely turn around and hit Damon back right across his hands, forcing him to drop his stick. On instinct, he ducked, Thod's stick passing right above his head, and then he pushed his own stick upwards, getting him square on the throat. Thod fell to the ground in a coughing fit just as Myke charged him again, pushing him with the tip of his stick on his armored chest. Pod, still ducking, lost his balance and fell backwards, but he immediately raised his hand and placed the tip of his stick right in front of Myke's eyes.

Had this been a real fight, Thod and Myke would be dead, but Damon might have managed to pick his sword from the floor with an uninjured hand to come and kill him. Even assuming he had managed to cut both Damon's hands, he'd probably bleed out from the injury he "got" at the start. Three was definitely his limit, one way or another.

Myke offered him a hand, which he took, while Thod had a hand on Damon's shoulder for support, massaging his throat with his other hand. The other guards started to cheer and holler, making Pod blush again.

He approached Thod. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, milord," Thod answered in a coarse voice, "just startled is all."

Pod nodded and walked back towards camp, blushing still at the rowdy guards following him.

Sansa was about to start her dinner, and gave him a questioning look as he sat in front of her. Before he could answer, one guard passing by, not noticing the Lady was within hearing distance, said to another, "who'd have thought it, Lord Podrick is as good with the sword as the girls say he is with his cock."

That made Pod blush the same color of the jerkin he used to wear.

Sansa looked scandalized so Pod explained hurriedly, "Don't mind him, he didn't see you and that's the kind of talk that usually goes around. It's just good fun."

She arched an eyebrow. "And you don't mind them talking about you like that?"

"Well, it's not like they are saying terribly bad things," Pod admitted, still blushing. He tried to hide his smirk by digging into his food.

"I see. We'll have to talk about this rumor the 'girls' have about you later," she said, now blushing a little too. He only smiled in return.

Just as the caravan was getting ready to continue on its journey, a troupe of bards approached camp and Sansa decided to stay a bit longer to listen to some songs. To general delight, all the songs were new and they were all about the War of the Five Kings, the Great War and the Tale.

One bard sang a fast-paced and fierce tune about the treachery of the Two Towers and how winter came for them all, bathing the snow with their blood. Pod, whose own head was banging along with the song, looked surreptitiously at Sansa, sitting next to where he was standing. There were tears in her eyes, tears she refused to drop. 

The next bard, a young girl, sang a cheerful piece about the Drowned God, how he came to the world in the form of three storms, who abated on each other and how the biggest was finally dissipated when the other two pushed at it in tandem. The reality had been much different, far less dignified, but Pod felt his own heart soaring at the scale of the song nevertheless.

The third one's was a foreboding, somber song about the Mad Lioness who insulted the gods with fire and how fire itself consumed her power, before the valonqar destroyed her with his life as a cost. The song prompted Pod to look at Tyrion, who was looking at his own lap, blinking repeatedly.

The fourth song, sweet and melodic, was about the love of the White Wolf and the Queen of Dragons, how their love overcame winter and destroyed monsters both from within and without the realms of men. The tune was beautiful, but Pod couldn't help but decide that it didn't really do justice to his late liege lord, or his, Jon's, wife. Nevertheless, Sansa's handmaidens were all but swooning.

The fifth bard, the oldest, sang with melancholy about the Queen of Winter, the little girl who dreamed of true knights and honest lords, and how her heart hardened upon experiencing the horrors of the world before she commanded armies to destroy the wicked monsters and conquer back her home in the frozen lands -Pod looked at Sansa again and, while her expression was neutral, she had let the tears flow-. The bard finished his song with a coda that proclaimed that the little girl needed only wait, for as when the Queen achieved peace for her lands, her True Knight did come, becoming the Unlikely Lord who'd thaw her hardened heart.

Pod once again blushed the color of his old jerkin and all but ran away from the camp. Once he was a safe distance did he stop to ask himself how his wedding had even made it into a song. He played the piece on his mind and and concluded that the coda didn't quite mesh well with the rest of the ballad, so it was very likely that the bard had only included it recently and was still working on it.

He smiled inwardly at his luck and how fate had it that he'd be remembered as 'the Unlikely Lord'.

"Well," he whispered to himself, "at least I'll be remembered in some way. Not even my descendants will know my name."

He froze. Indeed, the only reason he was married and likely to have children at all was _because_ he wouldn't pass his name. He might not owe much to his family, but the certainty that his name would be forgotten was a heavy weight on his heart he hadn't noticed until he listened to the song. He cursed his luck again before he saw a Weirwood tree, probably the southernmost in the continent, and he knelt in front of it to pray. He prayed to the Old Gods and the New to give him several sons, so that he could convince Sansa and the Northern Lords to let one of them keep his name, and for all of his children to have many children of their own.

Wiping away a tear, he stood up and turned back to the camp, just to see Samwell Tarly approaching.

"Are you alright, my lord?" Sam asked him. He felt the familiar tightening of his jaw at the title.

"Yes, Lord Tarly, just praying a bit for safety during the rest of the journey." He looked down. It wasn't untrue, but it wasn't the full truth.

Sam looked at him suspiciously but nodded nevertheless, his demeanor then changed into his usual cheerfulness. "You missed the last song. It was about the Wall and how it fell."

"They should have saved the one about the Greyjoys for the end. All the other ones were tragic." He shook his head as he and Sam walked back to camp.

"Lord Tyrion had a similar opinion. He paid the bards to leave before they sang about the futility of life and how we were all gonna die eventually anyway," Sam said with a smile. Podrick chuckled.

Just then they reached the camp and Sam went to his carriage, where his wife and children were, while Podrick mounted his usual horse, whom he had named "Squire", to keep treading alongside Sansa.

"So, about this rumor..." She started, arching an eyebrow. He let out a laugh.

"I told you," he said in a whisper, leaning towards her window so only she could hear him. "I didn't come into this marriage a maiden. But I must say that most of the rumors about me are unfounded: I hadn't actually bedded a woman since I left King's Landing during lord Tyrion's trial. Until you, of course."

"Then why do the girls in Winterfell talk about you?" Sansa seemed genuinely curious.

"They probably heard what happened with the three whores. That one is true," he admitted.

"I see, that one I had heard." She blushed a little but otherwise didn't seem to be judging him, to his relief. "Did they really refuse the gold?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Sansa was now looking at him intently.

"I've bedded you. You tell me," he said, now teasing her. After seeming to consider it a moment, a mischievous smile spread across her face and she nodded before changing the subject. He immediately sit up straight as they had been whispering with their heads close, which in turn was causing his neck to hurt from leaning over his horse.

"What happened with the bards? You didn't like the old man's song?" She asked after a while, a sad smile on her face.

"It's beautiful. The ending surprised me a lot, though," he commented, looking at her.

"It's not entirely inaccurate."

He smiled too, this time not blushing.


	5. News in the Trident

Riverrun was a detour from the Kingsroad but Sansa had wanted to supervise the damage the wars had caused in the Riverlands by herself. The castle looked exactly the same as it had the last time he had been there, only without an assaulting army around it.

The same could not be said about its lord, however. His imprisonment by the Freys and the Lannisters, and the forced betrayal against his uncle, had broken Edmure Tully. The man might have been half the Blackfish's age and looked healthy and well dressed but his face was that of a man who had lived one hundred years, if not more. While the Blackfish, even in his old age, had relished the fight and commanded with aplomb the garrison in the castle, Edmure was taciturn and reserved, seemingly content with leaving the management of his holdings to his wife, Roslin. Podrick hadn't actually seen him much, and the only times he had seen him smile was during a short conversation with his wife and while playing with his young son, Hoster.

As such, Podrick was surprised when Tully came into the Small Council meeting, talking. As Lord Paramount of the region and the castle they were in, he was invited to their meetings, but the invitation he had declined until now.

"My Lady, apologies for the interruption." He had greeted as he came into the room.

"No apologies needed, uncle. Are you joining us this time?" Sansa asked cordially.

"I wouldn't want to intrude, niece. You can be sure I'll carry out whatever measure is necessary for keeping the peace in the Riverlands," Tully recited in a monotone. "I'm only bringing news, from a raven that arrived just now."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows at Podrick while making a face towards Tully; Pod could only nod in return: the man was such a shell he only talked about news. Pod, for his part, pitied Tully and shuddered at the idea of going through what the man had.

"Sure, do tell us," Sansa prompted.

"It's a message from maester Jakon in Storm's End: The castle is under siege by a horde of Dothraki. They're unsure if it's one single khalasar or if several Khals are working together but the estimate is around ten thousand men. Lord Baratheon has already called his banners in hopes of getting enough support to break the assault," Tully informed, still in a monotone, but one almost managed to sound concerned. Almost.

The mood in the room changed suddenly into one of worry and trepidation. Everyone turned to look at the Lady, who was seemingly frozen, staring at her uncle with glassy eyes and an expression of complete fear.

"Arya," She whispered before blinking and breathing deeply. She then nodded to herself. "Can we call the banners from around King's Landing and send a relief force to the Stormlands?"

"My Lady," Tyrion answered, raising a hand in a conciliatory tone, "we know there are almost seventy thousand Dothraki roaming around the Reach and the Stormlands in total. We can't know if the other sixty thousand are marching towards the capital as we speak; we can't spare men. If I may add, I think Storm's End, with the help of surrounding lords, is strong enough to withstand and repel such a force."

"We don't know that for sure," Sansa cut. "What if the Stormlords simply refuse to help Gendry on account of his being a legitimized bastard and prefer to let the castle fall?"

"If they were to do that, they wouldn't have let him back into the castle or accepted him as their Lord Paramount in the first place, my lady. We hadn't heard of problems in the Stormlands, so I assume they're happy with having House Baratheon back." Sam tried to sound comforting, but Pod couldn't help but notice that, for all his cheerfulness, he didn't sound entirely convinced.

"So there's nothing we can do is what I'm hearing," Sansa summarized.

"I'm sorry, my lady," Pod interjected, placing his hand on top of hers, "the best we can do is trust them. Your sister is the best assassin of the Realm, I've seen her fight. Before we know it, I'm sure she'll have all the heads of those Khals in spikes."

Sansa looked at him for a while before she nodded, seeming placated. "I apologize, my lords, but I must cut this meeting short. I'll go to the maester and personally write a message to my sister. We continue towards King's Landing tomorrow."

"My Lady," Everyone chorused, though Sansa didn't seem to hear as she all but fled towards the door.

She missed dinner and Pod looked for her throughout the castle for a while, before settling on waiting for her in her chambers. Sure enough, there she was, looking out the window towards the river, her expression an odd mix of worry and contentment.

"Are... are you well?" Pod asked, dubious. She seemed far less worried than earlier, maybe there had been more news. "I'm sure you needn't worry, they'll be..."

"Fine," she interrupted, looking at him as he closed the door. "Yes, I know. Even if the castle doesn't hold, I'm sure Arya will find a way to slip away, she always has; she won't let anything happen to Gendry either. We can take the castle back later if it falls, too; Dothraki are not built to stay in one place. I just hope we don't lose many men in the battles, there has been enough loss of life as it is. You're right, I shouldn't worry and not just for them, I can't perform my duties as regent if I let preoccupations cloud my wits."

"I'm happy to hear that." He smiled. She was as poised as always.

"There's... There's something else," she continued, hesitant as she clasped her hands in front of her, looking oddly demure for someone who had spent the majority of her time alone with him naked.

"Yes? Is something the matter?" He asked, frowning at her sudden smile.

"Podrick," she replied, her smile growing with every word, "I don't know if you noticed, but my last blood was two weeks before our wedding."

He felt a shudder and goosebumps spread from head to toe. They had been traveling for two weeks and they had left Winterfell two weeks after their wedding.

"And...? And...?" His voice was coarse and he couldn't actually form the words he was trying to.

"I remembered about that while I was with the maester earlier so I asked him and..." She paused, looking radiant. "Yes! He confirmed it!"

He choked out something that sounded like "gods" as he slid towards her, falling to his knees and rubbing his cheek against her clothed belly. He couldn't help a couple of tears from falling as she placed trembling hands on his hair, and he kissed her belly while letting out a strangled mix of chuckle and sob. He hugged her legs as tight as he could without hurting her, and they stayed that way for a long time.

After he calmed down a little, he stood up and gave Sansa one of the most passionate kisses he had given her so far. She immediately responded to him and wrapped her neck in his arms, while their tongues battled. Just as suddenly, though, she broke the kiss and took a step back.

"Podrick..." She said. His name on her lips make him wake up from his daze and he blushed.

"Sorry, sorry. Did the maester said that you couldn't...?" He left the question in the air.

"I..." She cleared her throat, blushing furiously. "I did ask him. He said that we still could but only in certain... positions, so as not to hurt the babe."

"That's great. What positions?" He asked, smiling as he caressed her arms.

"From... er... from behind?" She said, hesitant. She was again clasping her hands and now looked worried.

He had never actually felt the need to fuck her that way; he would think about that oddity later. "Good, so we can... Sansa, are you well?"

Her eyes were now brimming with tears and she was wringing her hands. She shook her head, as if to clear it, and answered, "It's just... It's just that that's... that's how he..."

She then started crying openly and Pod, horrified, enveloped her in his arms, hugging her tightly but careful not to press her body against his. He ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him that that must've been the reason he had never fucked her in those positions; his bedroom instincts never failed him.

"It's... It's alright..." He whispered. "We don't have to do anything, we can wait, we are not beas..."

He paused with a gasp as she had started kissing his neck.

"I want to." She whispered in his ear while biting it lightly. "You feel it too, don't you?"

He noticed then that his erection hadn't completely faded as he thought, and she must have noticed it too. It was now growing back.

"Yes." He said huskily as he started returning her neck kisses. It was obvious that her body yearned for his as much his body wanted hers. She moaned as he licked a sensitive spot in her neck.

"Gods. Let's..." She paused while she unlaced his doublet. "Let's try, at least."

"Yes, try, that is good." He was barely listening or speaking coherently, too busy with removing their clothing.

Once they were naked, they climbed to the bed on their knees. Slowly, she turned around, giving him her back, but he could feel her trepidation growing again. He started whispering at her ear, feeling she needed comfort as much as she wanted to be intimate.

"Sansa..." He said. "Gods, I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am. How grateful I am to the gods for giving me such a beautiful, intelligent wife. I don't understand how you ever saw me suitable for you, but you can be certain that every day I try to live up to what you deserve."

She sighed, relaxing, and leaned into him almost involuntarily. Careful to keep his cock away from her, he embraced her again, from behind, nestling her head in his neck.

He smelled her hair deeply before going on. "And now the gods. No, you, bless me with a child. I'm just a poor knight, I'm below you. I don't deserve you carrying my child. Yet you are, I couldn't be happier than I am right now."

She completely leaned into him now and he, taking the next step, started rubbing his cock between her legs. Eventually she spread them, allowing him more room to grind.

She moaned before she started whispering on her own. "Pod, it's you who has made me happy. I didn't expect anything from marriage anymore, I was only doing my duty. I knew then that the tales of maidens and knights were just that, tales empty of any truth. Yet you've shown me otherwise, you showed me that tales can happen. That there was a Knight for me."

"My Lady, my Queen," he replied, now letting his arms cup her breasts as he kept rubbing his cock between her legs, "you must be lying, I just did my duty. I promised to serve you and I am, nothing more. I'm sure you could've been happier with someone else."

"I... don't... care..." She told him, with a gasp after every word. "I don't... want... anybody else... you're... the knight for... me. I thank the... gods! Podrick!"

"Yes?" She sounded frustrated and he deliberately slowed down, needing to gather her complete approval and submission. His left hand dropped to her cunt as his right continued massaging her breasts. Licking her ear, he asked, "Is it that you want me to stop?"

"Damn... Damn you!" Her frustration grew as her moans became more shallow. "Fuck me, please!"

"That's all I wanted to hear."

Changing the way they were leaning on each other just slightly, he managed to get the head of his cock at the entrance of her wet cunt and pushed, eliciting a groan from both of them. They moved slowly, feeling no hurry, while they continued whispering to each other. After a while, he moved his left hand towards her belly, drawing circles with the tips of his fingers. She soon put her own hand above his and they fell silent as they kept massaging her womb, no more words needed.

Feeling his release coming, he moved his hand from her belly to her hip, afraid of hurting her, and started pushing more frantically. Her moans grew erratic and, finally, he spilled into her, burying his head on her neck while he felt her cunt contracting around his cock.

They missed supper that night.


	6. The Crownlands

Almost four weeks after leaving Winterfell, they finally reached King's Landing. A host of guards accompanied them from the gate of the city to the door of the Red Keep, where a maester, Theon Greyjoy and, to general surprise, Yara Greyjoy were waiting. As soon as everyone had stepped out and were all in the castle's main hall, greetings started.

"Lady Regent," the maester greeted, "I'm the new Grand Maester assigned to the Red Keep. Silas."

Seeing him up close, Pod raised his eyebrows. Maesters were usually old men, but this fellow barely looked ten years older than him.

Evidently, Sansa agreed with his assessment. "Aren't you a bit young to be the Grand Maester?"

"Indeed, my lady, but you can be assured that I've earned all of my chains and will perform all of my duties appropriately. I have a writ of recommendation from Archmaester Embrose, if you wish for confirmation." The man recited, bowing deeply and clearly nervous. Pod put a hand on his mouth and barely managed not to chuckle.

Sansa raised an eyebrow, clearly unsure of what to make of the Grand Maester. "Very well, Grand Maester, I will read this writ later. Theon!"

She all but ran towards Greyjoy, embracing him tightly.

"Sansa," he said, the tiniest of smiles in his lips, "it's so good to see you."

"Likewise." She turned towards his sister and curtsied. "Yara, to what do we owe the honor?"

Yara bowed before answering. "Theon informed me of the raven you sent about the Iron Fleet and your proposition. I have a proposition of my own I wish to discuss with the Small Council."

"I see, I will see to have a meeting as soon as everyone is settled, then." Sansa declared, before turning towards the maester again. "Grand Maester, I need you to send a raven informing Storm's End I've reached King's Landing, ask Gendry and Arya for anything they might need from me regarding the siege. I also need you to send a raven to Dragonstone to Jorah Mormont. Ask him to come to the capital."

"At once, my lady." Silas bowed before all but running towards the rookery.

Sansa was about to head towards the Throne room when Tyrion spoke. "I'm afraid our Master of Whisperers doesn't seem to be here, my lady. If you don't mind, I'd like to go to castle Stockworth to retrieve him personally. It's a ride of only a couple of hours."

"Very good," Sansa accepted, "but please, lord Tyrion, take at least two guards with you. I don't want to lose the Hand just as we reached King's Landing."

"If you don't mind, my lady," Pod cut in, "I could accompany Lord Tyrion, I reckon the two of us would be safe and can make the trip fast enough to be here for the Council meeting."

Sansa looked worried but acquiesced after considering it for a moment, walking towards Pod and giving him a goodbye kiss to the whispers of everyone in the hall.

Ten minutes later, he and Tyrion were back out of the city gate, both riding Squire. Tyrion complained the entire way at having to ride essentially on Pod's lap, but Pod had insisted in that it would be faster because they wouldn't have to wait for a horse to be prepared with Tyrion's special saddle. Less than two hours later, Stockworth appeared before them. It wasn't a large keep, but it was well kept and looked like a nice place to live; Bronn had clearly done well for himself.

There were two guards protecting the gate. Evidently, Bronn only demanded as much etiquette as he could muster, for one of the guards curtly asked, "Who are you?"

"I am Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the West and Hand of the King," Tyrion said, putting all the strength he could manage in his voice, compensating for the fact that he was still sitting right in front of Podrick. "Tell Lord Stockworth to get out, preferably on a horse, so we can go to King's Landing immediately."

"Gods, you're still a cunt." Came a voice from the direction of the beach. Both Pod and Tyrion looked to the source and saw Bronn, wearing only his breeches and a cloak, accompanied by a blushing woman wearing basically a shift, and holding a bundle in his arms. They were flanked by other two guards.

"Bronn! It's so good to see you," Tyrion greeted, a sardonic smile on his lips. "My lady Stockworth, looking as radiant as ever. And is this little Tyra? Pod, please."

The woman, Lady Stockworth, blushed even more while smiling absentmindedly. Podrick dismounted before helping Tyrion climb down the horse.

He caught Bronn looking at him, a smirk on his face. "You're the fucking Lord Protector of the Realm and yet you're still squiring for this cunt? You'll never learn."

Pod blushed but smiled at the good-natured jape. He, alongside Tyrion, approached Bronn and looked into the bundle he was holding. Bronn's piercing blue eyes stared back at him from the face of a small girl of probably two months or so.

"She's beautiful," Pod managed to choke out.

"Of course she's beautiful," Tyrion pointed out as he carefully received the babe into his arms, "Bronn wouldn't name some misshapen creature after his dear best friend."

"Careful, imp. You no longer pay me so our friendship is not as grand as it used to be." Tyrion glared at the jape but nevertheless smiled while looking at the child. Bronn looked at his daughter too, wearing a small, genuine smile, before lifting his eyes at Pod. "I heard that you already put one inside that northern lady of yours too."

"Hey now, that's no way to talk about the Lady Regent," Pod jested while at the same time trying to sound serious. He blushed before adding, "But yes, she's almost two moons along."

"Indeed," Tyrion interjected, as he passed the babe to Pod. "Everyone is having offspring now. Maybe I should start looking into continuing House Lannister myself."

"Aye, you're not getting any younger," Bronn told him with candor.

Pod barely heard them anymore, too entranced with the child, cooing and making faces.

"Are my lords going to stay for the night?" Lady Stockworth asked.

"I'm afraid we can't, my lady. We're here to take your husband away, actually. For that matter, he should've already been in King's Landing," Tyrion said, and he gave Bronn a look.

"Seven hells. Blasted dwarf, are you not even going to let me have a year in my own keep? What is it with you Lannisters and wanting me to die in that pungent city," Bronn complained, but he didn't really seem all that bothered.

"It is for the good of the realm, Bronn," Tyrion replied. "If I knew someone with a better ability to make acquaintances or with as many contacts as you do all over the place, I wouldn't bother you. You've already given me enough service for a lifetime. But you're really the best person for the job, I see now you're even good with children so you might even be as good as Varys was."

"The good of the realm," Bronn repeated, mockingly. "Was it for the good of the realm that you brought in the Dothraki, the ones tearing the realm apart?"

Tyrion now looked angry. "We were expecting for the best. For Daenerys to reign long enough to assimilate the Dothraki into Westerosi society or to send back to Essos the ones who couldn't do so. Alas, the best did not happen and I don't know if bringing them was a mistake or not, but they did help us with fighting my sister and the army of the dead. Now we have to deal with the consequences."

"Oh, bitch, bitch, bitch," Bronn mocked, imitating Tyrion's accent. "Why is it me who has to deal with the consequences of your fuck-ups?"

"We all have to deal with the consequences," Pod cut in, handing the babe to her mother. "Maybe it's a bad deal for you, but I'm sure you don't want your daughter to grow up knowing that the Dothraki are going around pillaging everything and everyone they see."

Tyrion smirked and Bronn looked shocked, before smirking too. "I see that being a lord suits you, boy."

Pod only smiled. An hour later all three men -Bronn had arranged for his family to go to King's Landing the next day- left castle Stockworth in two horses; Bronn laughed all the way at Tyrion's renewed complaining, even offering to switch Tyrion to his horse. They arrived back at the Red Keep just in time for supper, which they were informed they would take in the Small Council hall.

The food was being served when they came in, and Sansa, Yara, Theon, Samwell, Davos and the Grand Maester were already there. They all greeted,  "My lords."

"Greetings," Pod, Tyrion and Bronn chorused.

Once everyone was settled and the servants had left the room, Sansa swallowed a piece of bread before speaking, starting the meeting, "Greetings, everyone. First of all, I'd like to welcome the new Master of Whisperers into the Small Council."

Bronn stood up, bowed and sat back down. "Thank you, milady."

"Now, on the matter of the Master of Ships..." Sansa purposefully left the sentence hanging.

"Yes. I have a proposition to make," Yara declared. "As we've found out, keeping our word of stopping our raids, as we promised the Mother of Dragons, is turning out to be more difficult than we thought. Specially because trading is more of a chore than it was before by virtue of our being an independent Kingdom. As it happens, the Iron Throne is in lack of ships that we the Ironborn can provide, however.

"With that state of affairs, I've chosen not to be like the stupid previous Greyjoy generations, I'd rather care for the good of my people than unnecessarily paying the Iron Price. I'm thinking of a mutual benefit. The Ironborn will surrender sovereignty of the Iron Islands, with House Greyjoy going back to Lord Reaper status, and provide the crown with a fleet under two conditions: That we keep as much autonomy as Dorne has traditionally enjoyed, and that, from now on, the Master of Ships will always be a member of House Greyjoy. Or whatever House reigns at the Pyke."

Pod was sure that Yara added the last part about another House because she remembered that she likely was the last Greyjoy ruler of the Iron Islands. Theon couldn't have children and, if she had them, they'd probably have their father's name.

After a second or two of pondering, Sansa spoke. "It's an interesting proposition, I'll accept it under the condition that, just like your family will always be Master of Ships from now on, you will also keep providing ships to the crown as they're destroyed or damaged."

Yara considered it for a moment and, smiling, she extended her arm towards Sansa, who shook it with her own. "You have a deal, my lady."

"As do you, _my lady_. I take it then that Theon will be our next Master of Ships?" Sansa asked, smiling at her foster brother.

"Correct," Yara confirmed, wearing a similar smile.

Theon stood up, bowed and sat back down, just like Bronn had done, before saying, in a small voice, "thank you, my ladies."

Most of the rest of the meeting, and supper, was spent discussing the number of ships the Ironborn would provide, how such ships would be manned and when they would be arriving to Blackwater Bay.

"Lady Regent," the Grand Maester said while everyone else was leaving the room. Pod stayed near the door.

"Yes, Grand Maester?" Sansa asked, looking at the maester with curiosity.

The maester blushed and bowed. "I thought it best to wait until after the meeting to inform you that I got word back from Ser Mormont."

Sansa raised her eyebrows. "And why did you wait until now?"

"I assumed it was of lesser importance." The Grand Maester looked nervous again, his eyes on the floor. Pod smiled and looked down, almost pitying the poor man.

"Depends on what he replied. Is he coming?" Sansa asked, arching an eyebrow.

Silas cleared his throat. "Yes, my lady, he will be here within two days."

"Then it is of importance. Ser Jorah is to be our next Master of War," Sansa explained.

The Grand Maester looked shocked for a moment before bowing and leaving the room with a perfunctory 'my lord' as he passed Pod.

"He finds you attractive," Podrick noted as they were making their way towards their chambers.

"I noticed," Sansa agreed. "Poor fellow, not only does he have a vow of celibacy, but I'm spoken for anyway."

They both went into the chambers usually reserved for the king, similar smiles on their faces.


	7. Killers

It had been three moons now in King's Landing and the city was prospering. Sansa, with Samwell's help, had enacted new laws in favor of the smallfolk and, in consequence, even the mood of the city was improving. The robbery and murder rate was going down too, although Podrick liked to think that his small reforms to the City Watch helped. He didn't like the gold cloak, considering it a hindrance, so he stopped wearing it after about a week and, ultimately, ordered all the armors painted into more muted colors so that they were less llamative. Indeed, that made catching criminals a little easier.

Lately, he had to spend a lot of his time near the construction of the new sept that Sansa had Davos commission, to prevent people from stealing materials. It would never be as grand as the Great Sept of Baelor as it'd be a wasteful use of their limited resources. So much so, that at first Sansa had been hesitant of building it until Tyrion pointed out that having a place for prayer and meditation might help with morale. Indeed, many people were still mourning the Great Sept.

Speaking of the Faith, the new law that the High Septon most resisted was the Law on Dames, which allowed women to be knighted. The High Septon continuously protested it, on grounds of protecting women and the nature of progeny, and tried to have it revoked but Sansa fought back just as relentlessly. Ultimately, what was passed was a law that put so many requirements of strength, skill and deeds for women to be knighted, which by itself also rejected categorically the idea of female squires, that probably the only three knights in the entire realm who passed it were Bronn, Jorah and Pod, and Pod had serious doubts about his filling all criteria; taking Ser Davos in account, it meant that not even all knights in the small council would be knights if the same restrictions were applied to men. It seemed more an exception made for Brienne than a law passed, as it'd be impossible for any other woman to pass, specially during peacetime. Sansa, however, still considered it a victory because, while in practice it  _was_  an exception for Brienne, on _paper_ it was still a law accepted, which allowed her and Lord Tarly room for amending it every year, and she vowed to at least attempt it. In the meantime, she got her revenge by naming Brienne, now anointed as Dame Brienne of Tarth, Lady Commander of the Kingsguard, making her essentially the most prominent knight of the Realm. Podrick teased Brienne every now and then about how, not even as an official knight, she had managed to escape the title 'Lady'.

It had been believed that Mormont's first act as Master of War would've been contributing to breaking the Siege of Storm's End but the Stormlords ultimately managed it on their own. A coordinated attack to the flanks of the assaulting army by the Baratheon bannermen, simultaneous with a daring charge led from the gates themselves by Gendry, wielding his warhammer, all but obliterated the Dothraki horde. The decisive event that convinced the khalasar to surrender instead of continuing to fight the losing battle was the sudden demise of their Khal, seemingly stabbed in the heart. Once the battle was won, Gendry and Arya, following Sansa's instructions, offered the Dothraki the options of safe passage across the Narrow Sea, or staying in Westeros under the condition of stopping their pillaging. Rumor had it that, not long after most of the khalasar left, their hair cut in shame, the stormlanders found what seemed to be the body of one of the khal's wives, her face having been removed.

The two hundred ships that Yara had promised had arrived two weeks prior, with Theon as admiral. He and Jorah Mormont were already making plans for countering the Dothraki threat in the Reach, finding where the Unsullied had disappeared to and moving to quell the civil war and brewing civil war in Dorne and the Westerlands respectively. Bronn was helping with this by traveling all over Westeros, as he needed to consolidate his network anyway. Tyrion had to read a furious raven message in front of the rest of the council in which Bronn complained about having to find out that his wife was pregnant with his second child through a note.

Speaking of children, a surprising, but not unexpected, task that Sansa and Pod found themselves with was raising the King as their ward. While Jon was generally a normal one-year-old, he sometimes went completely silent and unmoving, as if he were on a trance; it worried them as they feared he might have inherited the Targaryen madness. Another possible evidence of his Targaryen heritage is that the boy cried constantly whenever he was separated from his red dragon egg -it had been found near Rhaegal's body and the Grand Maester speculated that the dragon had laid it with its final breath-. Those excentricities aside, it was a relatively painless experience.

One afternoon, after leaving the King with his wet nurse, Podrick went into his chambers to find Sansa already waiting there, evidently having decided to have an early day. She was staring out the window, caressing her barely visible belly with a strange smile on her face. Pod gave her a quick kiss before he went about the hassle of removing his armor; he badly needed a squire, something he had admitted to himself with a swell in his chest, but had promised Lord Tarly he'd wait until little Sam was the appropriate age. Only three years to go.

"How was your day?" He asked as he let his breastplate fall to the floor before taking his sweaty undershirt off.

"It was... alright," she answered, pensive.

He stopped removing his chausses to look at her. "Are you well?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I visited the Grand Maester today."

"Is the babe alright?" He asked, taking a step towards her and looking down at her belly.

"Yes, he's alright," she informed, her smile becoming a bit more prominent.

"Good, then," he said absentmindedly before his head snapped back up. "Wait, _he_?"

"Yes, the Grand Maester believes it's a male." Sansa finally looked at him, still wearing an odd expression, but mostly seeming happy.

"Gods, that's wonderful!" He exclaimed, almost losing his balance while removing his underpants, but then he noticed her face. "... is it?"

"Yes, of course!" She said. Something in her tone made him arch an eyebrow

"Sansa, please, tell me what's wrong." He beseeched. He didn't remove his eyes from her as he went to the basin to remove the grime of his body with a wet cloth.

"Nothing, it's just..." She paused. "How many people have you killed, Pod?"

That was a question he didn't expect. He thought for a moment before giving up. "I'm not sure, a few?"

"A few..." She repeated. Her next words worried him even more. "You don't even remember."

"Is that... bad? Are you angry with me?" He had stopped cleaning himself to look at her, a crease in his forehead.

"No, no." Sansa shook her head for emphasis. "Why would I be?"

"I don't know, but you're acting very strange and I'm very nude so this is a weird situation."

Sansa chuckled softly at that before speaking in a strange tone. It seemed she was asking the question more to the room than to him. "Do you remember the first person you killed?"

"Mandon Moore, during the Blackwater." He answered automatically. He frowned and looked down, the answer had come very easily.

"That you remember, I see..." Then it was her head that snapped to look at him. "Wait, did you say this was during the Battle of the Blackwater?"

"Yes?" He confirmed before splashing water on his hair. She chuckled again so he lifted his eyes at her to see if he'd amused her. No, she was again staring out the window. "Sansa, you're starting to frighten me, please tell me what's the matter."

"Nothing is the matter. It's just that that night, during the Blackwater, Sandor Clegane told me that my father, my brother, the Lannisters and the Baratheons were killers, and that my sons will be killers some day." She explained, rubbing her belly. "And I just found out that the man who would go on to father those sons became a killer that very same night. It all seems like an amusement of the gods."

He couldn't even begin to think of how to answer to that so, for a moment, he reverted back to the timid squire who could only communicate with her by studying her feet. After mulling over what she said, he stammered, "Well... He doesn't have to be... He could be a... maester?"

He tried, and failed, not to sound too disappointed. The first picture that came to his mind upon finding out he was going to have a son was that of a ginger kid holding a toy sword and following his instructions. But he promised to Sansa that he would do whatever was in his power to make her happy and, if that meant guiding his son towards school, he would.

"No, of course not," she said. "He can't be a maester. Well, he will if he wants to. Hopefully he doesn't, he needs to take over Winterfell as soon as he's of age."

"Oh, good," he replied, his tone of voice entirely too relieved. "And you are alright with that?"

"Of course. I don't mind that my sons will grow up to be killers," she said with certainty. "For all I know, maybe my daughters will be too, Arya came from my mother after all. It just got me thinking."

"And?" He wanted to know.

"Well, after considering it," she said, finally with a true smile. "I'm alright with that. It's the way the world is and I don't want them to suffer. However, I will do everything in my power to give them a better world to live in, of course."

"I'm sure you will, and I'm happy to be there to see it firsthand. Now, you're way too overdressed," he declared, and she chuckled as he embraced her from behind. Before things could progress how he wanted them, though, there was a knock at the door.

"My Lady." It was the Grand Maester. "I have news that you need to know."

Sansa looked at Pod, nodding at his state of undress. He merely shrugged and went about drying himself while Sansa invited the Grand Maester in.

"My lady, my lord," Silas greeted.

"Grand Maester," they both said in unison. Pod looked for clean breeches to put on while they talked.

"What is the matter, Grand Maester?" Pod smiled when he noticed that Sansa kept stealing glances at him while she spoke. Pod usually tried not to be too proud of himself, but he assumed she must've noticed the effect that having to wear the Watch armor everyday was having on his body.

"We've finally heard news of the Unsullied, my lady," the Grand Maester informed.

That made Sansa finally remove her eyes from Pod's profile. "And where are they?"

"I'm afraid that they have occupied Casterly Rock. Lord Tyrion believes they used the same secret entrance he showed them."

Sansa closed her eyes for a moment. "That makes sense. Damn, as if they couldn't pick a less important target."

"Indeed," Pod agreed, still grabbing and tossing back different sets of breeches.

"I wanted to have an early day but I guess duty calls," Sansa said with regret, making Pod smirk. "Call the Council, we're having an impromptu meeting."

"In an hour," Pod added with a mischievous smile. Sansa blushed.

"As you command, my lord, my lady." Silas nodded before hurrying out of the room, the back of his neck completely red.

"You're incorrigible," she said while Pod unlaced her dress.

"Oh, is there something to fix about me?" He asked before he lifted her and carried her to the bed. She yelped in surprise and laughed.

"Gods, where is that awkward squire who never spoke unless spoken to?" She wondered as he removed her shift.

"He married the most powerful and beautiful woman of the seven kingdoms. That does wonders for a person's pride," he admitted.

They didn't say much else for the next hour.


	8. The Small Council

Lord Tyrion was in his usual seat, at the extreme of the long table closest to the door, when he arrived to the Small Council Hall. No one else was there yet.

"My _lord,_ " Tyrion greeted with a teasing smile that caused him to blush and tight his lips. So often he had used the title for people above his station, such as Tyrion, while he was always addressed only by name or as 'squire' that 'lord' being used to refer to him, and by one of his former overlords at that, was a strange notion that he hadn't come to terms with yet.

"My lord," he replied with a small smile of his own before taking his usual seat, to the right of the extreme opposite Tyrion's.

Before any of them could say anything, Lord Greyjoy and Ser Mormont came into the room. Both men spoke in unison, "My lords."

"My lord, Ser," he and Tyrion greeted. Theon took the seat at Tyrion's left while Jorah took the one opposite Theon.

"I'm afraid I don't bring good news, my lords," Theon started, his expression as somber as always.

"Not shocking, lord Greyjoy, but I believe we should wait until the others arrive, specially the Lady," Tyrion interjected, his hand on his chin and his eyes nowhere in particular.

Theon only nodded in response. Not long after, Lord Tarly came into the room, awkwardly carrying books, as usual, and sweating profusely; he was followed by Lord Stockworth, whistling what seemed to be 'A Thousand Eyes and One,' eliciting a smile from Tyrion.

"Gents," Bronn greeted. Everyone only nodded as he took a seat to Theon's left while Sam dropped all his books and scrolls on the table before taking the seat between Bronn and him, Podrick, completing the right side of the table.

"Sorry, my lords, I had to run here!" Sam exclaimed, fanning himself with a piece of paper.

"No problem, my lord. As you see, you're on time," Pod said. He hadn't finished saying that when Ser Seaworth entered, causing another round of "my lord" as he sat at Jorah's right.

Finally, the remaining three members arrived and everyone stood up on cue. Lady Stark, heavily pregnant, walked next to Dame Brienne of Tarth. They were followed by Grand Maester Silas, doing his duty of closely monitoring Sansa. With Podrick and Brienne's help, Sansa sat at the head of the table, opposite Tyrion. The table was completed when Brienne and Silas took the last two seats, at Sansa's left and Davos's right.

Everyone in the room greeted in a chorus of "My Lady."

"My lords," Lady Stark answered, wearing a small smile. Everyone sat again. "I think this is the first time all of us are meeting, officially. Let's start: Lord Greyjoy, I believe you have a report on the attack to Casterly Rock."

Theon looked at Sansa and, his lips tight, spoke. "Yes, my lady, I'm afraid the Unsullied have sealed Lord Tyrion's entrance. Sadly, I lost one ship trying to reopen, but it proved impossible. Barring burning the whole castle to the ground, only a protracted siege will get the castle back."

"We're not burning my family's ancestral seat," Tyrion declared pointedly. Sansa had closed her eyes when Theon mentioned the lost ship, but opened them to nod at Tyrion. She didn't want to cause a massacre with wildfire - not that they had much, he had surveyed the reservoirs and he and the rest of the Watch had cleared all the caches.

"What would be the consequences if we just ignored it? They won't be having any children so the Lannisters can take it back when the Unsullied start to die down," Brienne commented.

"That's a possibility," Jorah agreed, "but it would mean essentially giving up the Westerlands. Some of the Westerlords have already grown restless and there has been talk of reinstating the Kingdom of the Rock since the castle was abandoned by Cersei and Jaime. They might even mount a siege themselves to claim the castle and give validity to the secession."

"You know the Unsullied better than anyone else here, ser Jorah. What do you advise?" Sansa asked.

Jorah paused for a moment before replying. "They fought for my queen, my lady; they believed in _her_ because she freed them. Sadly, they don't quite believe in legacy, so they won't submit to anyone else. If they, as free men, have chosen Casterly Rock as their home, they will fight for it. I agree with Lord Greyjoy: a protracted siege might make them acquiesce to your earlier terms."

"Afraid there's another problem. Well, an old problem, but it's becoming more urgent," Bronn interjected, "if what I heard is correct, a few of the Reach lords might be seeking alliance with a number of Khalasar to help them attack this here city. I reckon they've told the Dothraki that King's Landing is a bigger prize than reachmen villages. One of those cunts, Fossoway, has even taken Highgarden and proclaimed himself King of the Reach."

The Grand Maester gasped and Sam raised his eyebrows at Bronn's usage of foul language, but nobody else even batted an eye. Pod himself looked at Sansa intently after hearing of the situation.

"That's the Westerlands and the Reach seceding, anything else?" Tyrion asked.

"Why yes: Dorne is still in open civil war; the Daynes seem to be the ones holding Sunspear right now." Bronn paused for a moment, "In the Vale, Lord Royce is having more trouble controlling your stupid cousin every day, milady, and it goes without mentioning that the old fellow is old so he might die any moment. On top of that, the idiot falcon boy is still not considering marriage, milady."

"So the Crown can only be said to control for sure the Crownlands, the North, the Riverlands, the Stormlands and the Iron Islands?" Sam asked, taking note of the situation.

"That's an 'if' on the North, sadly." Davos answered, "some of the Northern Lords have showed their displeasure at their Queen bringing the North back into the Seven Kingdoms by not paying their taxes."

Sansa inhaled deeply and said in exasperation, "Send a raven to Lady Mormont, tell her to rally the loyal lords there in Winterfell and to pay visit to the rebellious ones, if it comes to that. Any news of the Free Folk?"

"Yes, Gilly received news from Tormund yesterday: as of two weeks ago, at the latest, they seemed to be happy in the Green Lands. I think their days of raiding south of The Gift are done," Sam informed.

"We can't ever be sure about that," Tyrion commented. "Old habits die hard - the Dothraki are showing great example of that in the Reach and the Stormlands - even if the White Walkers are gone, are you still certain on not rebuilding the wall, my lady?"

Sansa looked hesitant before answering, "It's not what Jon would have wanted... Not that we have the manpower or the complete knowledge to rebuild it anyway. If the wildlings restart their raids, then we'll see what we can do; decisions can't be made based on hypotheticals. Now, how're the new policies on taxes and the faith affecting the smallfolk?"

"Very good, and the cleaning of Flea Bottom is also underway. Some have raised complaints, though, but I think the Lord Protector is better informed on that." Sam nodded in Pod's direction without lifting his eyes from the scrolls. "Lord Baratheon and Lord Tully are already carrying the same tax policies in their holdings, as well as on the initiative to restore the villages burned through the wars. The new High Septon is still grumbling about the law on Dames, by the way."

Brienne scowled at that last part before speaking her mind, "Maybe the Kingsguard should have some words with him."

Sansa and Pod smiled at the notion.

"Since we are speaking of the Faith," Sam added, "I should mention that the dissolution of the Faith Militant has been formalized. Cersei Lannister never actually cared to put it on record."

"On the complaints: the merchants and craftsmen exploiting the homeless are being reprimanded, and some of the worst offenders have had their possessions seized and repurposed for the shelters," Pod informed. He looked at Sansa and, catching her eye, nodded towards Bronn. They hadn't addressed the biggest issue Bronn mentioned.

"So, to sum up," Tyrion said, "Dothraki and Reachmen will attack King's Landing soon, the Unsullied keep holding Casterly Rock and the Westerlands are at the border of open rebellion, the Reach is _already_ in open rebellion,  Dorne is in civil war, and the Vale is in the hands of an increasingly uncontrollable manchild. A bit of a mess, I'll say."

Everyone smiled ruefully at the understatement.

He continued, "I think we can ignore The Faith and the exploitative merchants, for now, since they won't ever be happy about anything anyway. What do you think we should do about the pressing matters, my lady?"

Sansa breathed deeply before answering. "The most pressing issue is, of course, defense of the city; I'll get back to that in a bit. I reckon my cousin will listen to someone in his family, he always has. Send a raven to my sister for her to go the Eyrie."

"I don't think that will be likely, milady." Bronn interrupted. "Rumor has it that she and the Baratheon boy celebrated a little too hard the win against the Dothraki. She's said to be almost as pregnant as you are and in no state to travel."

Sansa's mouth dropped. "Why didn't she tell me?!"

"I reckon she didn't want to drop that one on you on top of everything... And that you probably wouldn't like that the child was conceived out of wedlock."

"Of course not," She deadpanned, "is Gendry even alright with conceiving a bastard? I mean, if punch came to shove, they'll probably convince Jon to legitimize it, but it'd still be a bastard for years."

"That's another thing. Last I heard from Storm's End is that there had been a private ceremony."

"Gods, Arya," Sansa said. She was smiling, but her eyes were fixated on the table and there was a small crease on her forehead. "She has a small frame, I hope she and the child aren't harmed. Grand Maester Silas, please send raven to the Citadel and confirm if the maester of Storm's End is skilled enough to keep my sister and her child safe. I'll personally write to Arya and ask her if she deems necessary to send midwives and more septas to the castle.

"Anyway, so that's a no for Arya talking to Robin. What about my uncle? He's Robin's uncle too."

Tyrion answered that one, "From everything that man has gone through, I think he's as likely to ever leave Riverrun again as the Dothraki are to surrender peacefully to anyone other than the Khaleesi."

"Indeed, that's what I thought." She made a face before turning to stare intently at Pod. He merely smiled at her until she raised her eyebrows.

"No, my lady. I can't." He said emphatically.

"Yes, you can."

"My lady! My place is here! I must see to organize the defense of the city for the impending siege!" He exclaimed, balling his fists up.

"Brienne is here and she trained you! And remember that Lord Tyrion already led the defence of the city once." She turned to the Grand Maester momentarily. "Before I forget, please send ravens to Gendry and my uncle telling them to send the men they can spare as quickly as possible to increase the numbers of the city."

"I reckon the construction of the new Sept should be halted too," Davos inquired, "because we need to redirect all the spendings into the city's defense, correct?"

"Yes, please see it done, Ser Davos," Sansa said with a smile before turning back to Pod, who was openly glaring at her now. Her smile faltered a bit but she pressed on, in a conciliatory tone. "Please, you're the only one left who can go in my stead and talk sense into my cousin. We will need the Knights of the Vale against the Dothraki."

"I'm not even that good at talking," he beseeched, frustration in his voice, "how am I going to convince him?"

"Just tell him that his cousin Sansa needs his help." She answered, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. "He's fond of me and already sent his knights to assist me once before. Who knows, he might even like you, you're a pleasant man and you have enough patience to... endure him."

There were too many things that could wrong with what she said, so he tried one last thing. "Please, Sansa, don't make me leave. I don't want to miss my son's birth."


	9. One Sword

Sansa looked at him, a shadow of doubt crossing her face, before steeling herself.

"He's still a moon away, you can make the trip in three weeks. You'll see his birth if you leave tomorrow," she stated, no longer smiling. All the other members of the Council seemed similarly uncomfortable by the lovers' spat.

He tried to rebuff, "What if the assault comes earlier than we expect and..."

"My decision is final. You're going to the Eyrie," she sentenced, avoiding his gaze and looking at the door instead. He stared at the table for a moment before standing up, which in turn caused everyone, including her, to look at him, surprised expressions on their faces.

"Understood. As my lady commands. I'll be leaving at once, farewell," he said in a flat tone. He left the room while avoiding everyone else's eyes.

He was going to miss his son's birth, he wasn't going to be the first man his son laid eyes on; he wouldn't be there to officially name him. He wasn't going to be present for the siege, he was going to be entirely unaware of whether his wife and son would be safe while Dothraki screamers and traitors from the Reach beat at the City's walls. He had been treated like a servant his entire life, so being commanded like a dog wasn't new to him, but he hadn't gotten it from her since long before their wedding.

He chastised himself: he had never and would never have power, the title of Lord Protector didn't actually mean anything and he was a fool for ever allowing himself to think otherwise. He should be content with his station in life; his honor, and his experience, demanded him never to aspire to more than what he had at any given moment. He tried to focus on the possibility that he might be coming back with reinforcements to lift the siege and would be seen as a hero, but he snorted at the idea. With his luck, he'd probably be kidnapped and ransomed by bandits.

He found himself in front of the stables and asked for a saddlebag. Afterwards, he all but ran towards his chambers, where he started packing all he thought he would need. Or he tried to, but his hands were trembling so much that, by the fifth time he accidentally dropped an undershirt to the floor, he pushed the saddlebag aside and went to the window, looking at the city and feeling his heart pound in his ears.

He heard her coming just before she opened his door. He pretended not to notice, his gaze fixated on the city's skyline, but not really seeing anything.

"Pod," she greeted tentatively.

"My lady," he responded, still looking out the window. He absentmindedly noted to himself that this was the first time since their wedding that he called her by title in private; at least outside the bed, where he sometimes did so playfully.

"Ser Podrick," she corrected, a sad note in her voice, "I have something to give you. I wanted to show you after the meeting but given the circumstances..."

"I apologize, my lady," he said with a monotone, his eyes still trained on the city. "I thought it best to start the mission right away."

"Don't you want to look at it?" She asked after a moment.

Breathing deeply, he turned around and looked at Sansa's hands. She was holding a valyrian steel sword with a handle that had been engraved with a chequered pattern. He looked up at Sansa, eyebrows raised.

"Longclaw?" He asked, dubious, before he looked closer and corrected himself, "No, it's shorter."

"Indeed," she confirmed, "Longclaw is Jon's and I didn't want to give you something you'd have to return in ten years or so. I wouldn't have to anyway because this one is mine. Well, it used to belong to my family, in a way: it and its sister were once the same sword."

"Who has the other one?" He asked, his eyes fixated on the weapon.

"Brienne."

He smiled at that, it meant that he and his former master would now wield sister swords. He had been present when Jaime Lannister gave Oathkeeper to Brienne and, back when he was Tyrion's squire, he had heard a rumor about the two swords.

He felt prompted to ask, "It was your father's, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was called Ice, and now a part of it can become our House's sword again. You can wield it until you pass it along," she told him, rubbing her belly after handing him the sword so he could test it.

The blade was only slightly longer than his arm so a bit shorter than what he was used to, but it was so light he was sure he could use it effectively with only one hand. Immediately, the option of wearing a shield or learning to use a dagger with his left hand for support came to his mind but he dismissed them for the time since he would need to practice one-handed movements first anyway. He liked it more and more with every swing, to the point he was openly smiling by the time he set it down to examine the handle. The crossguard was simple enough, but the handle itself had the most interesting engravement: a chequy with a tiny wolf head at the center of each square, four squares total on each side.

"This is..." He struggled to find words. "A marvelous gift, my lady..."

"Sansa," she corrected with a smile and a pointed look.

"Sansa," he amended, a tiny smile dancing on his lips. He looked down at the sword but, before he could ask about the handle, she spoke again.

"I reckon there are a couple of things you should know about that sword." She cleared her throat and was now looking at the weapon with a curious apprehension.

"What is it?" He asked, turning it over in his hands. He also twirled it once for fun.

"Joffrey called it Widow's Wail." That by itself almost made him drop it on the spot, and she continued. "And I suppose that's the sword that killed Cersei Lannister."

He looked from her to the sword several times, mouth open. He was holding the Kingslayer's sword. After the shock subsided, he cleared his throat like she had done and commented, trying to change the subject as soon as possible, "I reckon you might want to change its name. That is not a nice name for a family's ancestral weapon."

"It's yours now, you ought to name it," she stated, still looking at it.

He swung it one last time before sheathing it. "You say your father's was called Ice?"

"Yes."

"What about 'Winter'?" He asked, making a face.

She agreed with his wordless distaste. "A little on the nose, don't you think?"

"Indeed. How about 'Hail'?" He offered, frowning at the name.

"Sounds like people would be wanting to meet it. I like the irony, but I'm not sure," she commented.

"'Crystal'?" He proposed.

"You're the one who's going to be carrying it around," she noted, smiling slightly.

"You're right, not impressive." He looked at its pale grey blade again and, picturing the fights against the Army of the Dead and the people the sword itself had belonged to before, whispered, "'Night.'" 

"I like it. Sounds like a warning." She nodded after considering it a moment.

"'Night' it is." He said as he unclasped the belt of his old, nameless sword and slung it across his back, before clasping Night's belt around his waist. To his surprise, Sansa hugged him.

"I really don't want you to leave," she whispered, her head buried in his neck. "We just don't have any other choice."

"I don't agree." He couldn't lie to himself and to her. "I could stay and help in the fight, but alas, I pledged to you and will see your orders through until my last day."

Struggling with his own body, he returned the hug before he dropped to his knees and talked to her large belly.

"Listen, little tyke. Please, stay there until your old man can return to your mother, alright?" He gave a quick kiss to the clothed stomach before standing up again.

"Brienne told me to ask you if you wanted to take one of the Kingsguard with you," Sansa informed.

He shook his head. "The more people, the slower the journey. I can handle myself."

"Fine." She looked at him and kissed him. Placing her forehead on his and toying with the hem of his breastplate, she whispered, "Don't suppose you can stay until tomorrow..."

Almost despite himself, he grinned. "Not until tomorrow, but there's always time for that."

A couple of hours later, as the sun was getting low, he left King's Landing on top of Squire, thanking the gods for the approaching summer that was making the days longer. Despite Sansa's quiet protest, he forwent his City Watch plate armor and his old sword, choosing instead a cloak, a leather jerkin and breeches and carrying only Night and his saddlebag; he needed to travel light so he could cover more distance in less time.

He reached an inn just as the last light dipped over the horizon. Perfect timing. After securing stable space for Squire, he bought some food for himself.

"Fancy sword you've got there, little man." A man, possibly a sellsword given his attire, drinking ale two tables from him had spoken; interrupting his paltry meal of dubious broth and stale bread.

Pod hid his surprise at a sellsword managing to recognize valyrian steel so easily and raised an eyebrow at the moniker, he was as at least as tall as the other man. "What was that?"

"Your sword, valyrian steel, ain't it?" The man asked.

"I wish," he lied. He put his hand on Night's handle, both to cover the engraving and to unsheath it in case the sellsword tried something.

"You take me for a fool, boy?" The man inquired, now looking at Pod. "Do you even know how to use that thing?"

"Wanna find out?" Podrick challenged, finally looking at the man, wearing a frown and a smirk.

"Relax, milord, name's Izek," the man said as he took a seat in front of Pod, and offered his arm. Pod shook it with some hesitation, hand still on his sword's handle.

"Alyn," he responded using his father's name, "and not a lord."

"Right." The man obviously didn't believe him. "What brings you to the Kingsroad, sire."

"I have some business in Darry." He'd have to keep mental note of all his lies, and he chided himself for not preparing a cover story. Maybe he should have taken Brienne on her offer of a Kingsguard after all.

"I meself am going to King's Landing, you from there?" The man calling himself Izek asked, drinking his ale.

"Westerlands," Pod admitted, seeing no reason to lie about that.

"I see."

Since the man didn't say anything else for a while, Pod went back to his food, a hand still on Night.

After a moment, however, the man leaned towards him and whispered, "Hey, milord, you think you can deliver a message for me? It's for Bronn. I think you can save me the rest of the journey to the capital."

Pod's eyes snapped up. It seemed that Izek had known who he was the entire time. Pod, however, chose not to reveal himself just yet. "Who's Bronn?"

Izek raised his eyebrows, a smirk on his face. "A'right, fine. If you happen to come across a fella named Bronn, please tell him I said that what appears to be Dothraki have been spotted a few miles north from here."

With that, the man calling himself Izek stood up and went to the bedrooms. Pod tried not to let his face show any more than the fear of the Dothraki screamers from children's tales. He debated whether he should undo the journey and deliver the news personally or just going to the nearest castle to send a raven. As either option needed the light of day, specially if there were Dothraki around, Pod left the rest of his food and went to bed; he needed to wake back up at the earliest.

After setting a trap on his door in case anyone tried something during the night, he went to sleep, his hand near Night's handle.


	10. The Falcon and the Rune

He had barely slept in the past week, always tossing and turning and only rarely managing to fall asleep. In one hand, that meant he was making the distance in a shorter time than he had expected, on the other hand, his joints were aching and there were bags under his eyes. Squire hadn't liked the short periods of rest either, the horse had been slower for the past day.

He had seen the Dothraki, escorting what appeared to be a scout from the Reach. He chose not to engage them because they outnumbered him and because it would only make his mission more difficult if he attracted attention to himself. The siege was coming soon, another reason for going to the Eyrie even faster.

The Bloody Gate finally appeared before him.

"Who wishes to enter the Eyrie?" One of the guards asked.

"Ser Podrick Payne, Lord Protector of the Realm, Lord Protector of Winterfell and Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing." He tried not to make his voice sound as tired as it had. "I'm here to see Lord Arryn, on behalf of the Lady Regent."

"My lord," the same guard said, after coming down to greet him, "we weren't expecting you at least for another two days."

"The roads favored me," he lied, trying to muster a smile.

He had seen paintings of the Eyrie, but seeing the thing in person was an entirely different matter: It was small, at least compared with the other Ancestral Seats he'd seen, but it was the only one of the so called "impregnable fortresses" that did really seem to make justice to the name. Any assaulting party would probably be thrown down the mountains. At least it wouldn't be him, yet.

The castle's impressive defences came with disadvantages, however: such an inaccessible seat meant that, if the Lord Paramount spent all his time there, the other lords might simply choose to forget he exists and stop listening to the Crown; that's why Lords of the Vale often travelled all over the region. The isolationist problem was only exacerbated when the current lord was as... complicated as Robin Arryn.

"My lord," Yohn Royce -looking as if he had aged ten years since Pod had last seen him- greeted him when he crossed the gates of the castle. Bronn was right, the old man could die any moment.

"My lord," Pod answered while shaking Royce's arm, "may I speak with Lord Arryn right away? I'm required back at King's Landing as soon as possible."

"No doubt, my lord." Royce slumped his shoulders, as if trying to get rid of his soreness. "But I'm afraid that I don't know where Robin is."

"What?" The last thing they needed right now was a succession crisis in the Vale. "Since when? Has the lord been kidnapped?"

"No, my lord." Royce shook his head while waving his hand dismissively. "Only since this morning, the lord has taken to disappearing to who knows where in the last few months."

"Any idea of what he's been doing?" Pod arched an eyebrow.

"No, my lord, we only know that he always seems to be in a better mood when he reappears so we just leave him be," Royce said, but he was pointedly avoiding Pod's gaze.

As if on cue, Robin Arryn appeared from a door to the right, accompanied by a dark-haired man wearing bronze-colored plate, looking tired but otherwise normal. Arryn didn't look like some sickly little man; thin, yes, but taller than Pod. With a year of proper training, he could make a decent warrior.

"Uncle Yohn," Arryn greeted his guardian before turning to look at Pod. "Who are you?"

"Robin," Royce answered, "this is your cousin Sansa's husband, Podrick Payne. He's here to speak to you on her behalf."

Arryn seemed to have lost interest even before Royce was done speaking. "Yes, sure. Hey uncle, Andar told me he'd help me train today."

Royce closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if gathering his wits. "I apologize, Lord Payne, this is my youngest son, Ser Andar Royce. Andar, this is Lord Podrick Payne."

The dark-haired man who had come with Arryn extended his arm, smiling. "My lord, welcome to the Vale."

"Ser." Pod shook his arm, nodding.

"Uncle!" Robin whined, "can we train or not?"

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather train with Ser Tollett? He _is_ your master at arms," Royce said, seeming even more tired than a moment before.

"I really have no problem with helping Rob, father," Andar said, looking between Arryn and his father.

"See, uncle? Let's go!"

Before Podrick could open his mouth to stop Arryn from leaving, another voice came from the room to their left.

"Grandfather, have you seen Mya...? Who is this good man?"

A girl walked out the door, causing Podrick to do a double take. She was beautiful, dark haired, green eyed and more than appropriately endowed in hips and breast. The most shocking feature about her, however, was her attire: she was not dressed at all appropriately for a climate as cold as the Vale's, her dress had a very low cut and was basically see through on her legs.

The girl herself was also looking Pod up and down as she approached. She extended her hand for Podrick to kiss, which he did promptly, before smiling and looking him up and down once again. Podrick blushed.

"Lord Payne, this is my daughter Ysilla's daughter, Rhea Redfort," Royce introduced, "she came to visit us a few weeks ago. Rhea, this is the Lady Regent's husband, Lord Podrick Payne."

Rhea curtsied, still smiling easily, but Pod noticed she arched an eyebrow. "Podrick Payne? Oh I've heard about you! It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord. Ar at least I hope it will be."

This time both Podrick and Royce blushed furiously. Royce exclaimed, "Rhea! That is no way to speak to the Lord Protector! Weren't you looking for Mya? Go keep looking."

After Rhea curtsied and took her leave, giggling to herself, Royce spoke again, his cheeks still pink. "I apologize on her behalf, my lord. She fostered with her aunt in Godsgrace, for a few years, and seems to have adopted some Dornish attitudes."

Podrick shook his head, cleared his throat and said, "Nothing to apologize for, my lord. I really do need to talk with Lord Arryn, however."

"Yes, follow me." Royce seemed apprehensive at having to see Arryn again.

They arrived at the Eyrie's small courtyard, where Robin and Andar were already training, if what they were doing could even be called training. Robin barely waved his sword and dropped it often, asking Andar to correct his footwork and position. Andar, for his part, seemed happy to oblige, often grabbing both of Robin's arms, moving his legs, guiding his movements from behind and standing closely to correct his liege lord's stance. Robin often forgot what Andar had just instructed and asked to be taught again.

Podrick was watching the situation unfold with his mouth open. Until he noticed Royce frowning at him, that is, at which point he closed his mouth immediately and cleared his throat.

"My lord?" He asked, speaking slowly. "How long has your son Andar been in the Eyrie?"

Royce's gaze dropped. "... A few months, my lord."

Podrick cringed, although he tried not to be too obvious about it. "Is he married?"

Royce looked at him intently. "No, my lord, I've tried to find him a bride a couple of times and he's always disinterested."

Podrick looked back at the training session, which had basically turned into a hugging contest; it wouldn't be shocking if they started dancing with each other. They seemed to not even be aware that they were no longer alone in the courtyard.

"I was told that Lord Arryn wasn't keen to marriage either," Pod stated the obvious.

"No, my lord. That's why Rhea is here, in fact," Royce informed, also stating the obvious. "She's the prettiest of my brood and unmarried; I hoped she'd catch Robin's interest. There hasn't been any luck. Not that she's tried very hard, she seems more interested in mingling with every knight in the castle."

Royce was blushing again, and frowning. He was glaring at the floor.

"I'm considering sending my son back to Runestone," Royce said finally.

Podrick looked at the sparring pair again. They must have noticed they were no longer alone, for they had stepped away from each other and were back to swinging the training swords. Robin was suddenly much more skilled than a moment earlier, even if clearly still not a match for Andar, who was mostly decent himself. Arryn now was listening to Andar, corrected his position by himself and parried the slow movements appropriately. Andar, in turn, was speaking with slightly more authority than before and making Robin look at his own footwork instead of trying to correct Robin's. Now it _was_ a training session.

"Why is that?" Podrick asked flatly.

"I think... I think he's a bad influence for Robin."

Podrick tried not to chuckle and looked down to hide his smile. "I don't know, they seem to be getting along and Robin appears to be learning."

Royce glared at him, before looking down and breathing deeply. "What am I supposed to do then, my lord?"

The stories about Renly Baratheon and the Knight of Flowers were never flattering. Oberyn Martell, however, never seemed to care about what was said about him or his lack of preference; he even expected others to join him and his paramour with their whores of both genders. Podrick hadn't been one to judge then, being essentially a commoner in comparison; and he wasn't one to do so now, even if he had been raised to their station.

He'd never touch a man in that way, but if that's how they, Robin and Andar, found their relief then keeping them apart probably wouldn't help. Hells, maybe that's why Arryn had been behaving so badly but now seemed calm. He could relate even, this past week had been the first time since his wedding in which he had to go to sleep without having first fucked Sansa; the bags under his eyes spoke for themselves. One's hand just wasn't a good replacement. 

"I am planning to ask Lord Arryn to send the Knights of the Vale to King's Landing," Podrick said finally.

Royce's eyebrows shot up. "Why is that, my lord?"

"The Dothraki and some Reach Lords are mounting an assault on the capital," Podrick informed somberly.

"Seven hells," Royce muttered, "I'll send the ravens immediately."

"Don't we need Lord Arryn's permission?" Podrick asked, eyebrows raised.

"You can talk to him while I send the ravens," Royce replied with a smirk. Podrick nodded and went to talk with Robin as Royce left for the rookery.

"My lord, Ser," he said.

"My lord," Andar bowed.

Robin looked from Andar to Podrick and bowed too. "My lord."

Aye, definitely best to keep them together, this Andar fellow might at least get Arryn to behave. Now they just needed a way to get an heir.

"Lord Arryn, I need to speak to you about your cousin Sansa, she needs your help," Pod said seriously.

"Again?" Arryn seemed irritated. Pod tried not to let his own irritation show. "What is it now?"

"There are Dothraki screamers and traitors attacking the capital," he said, his jaw clenched.

Andar looked at him alarmed. "Is this true?"

"Indeed, we need the Knights of the Vale to repel the attacking force." Maybe they didn't _need_ them, but it'd be nice if they had them. Arryn didn't have to know that, however.

"And what's in it for me?" Arryn asked petulantly.

"Rob!" Andar said. Podrick raised his eyebrows at the overt familiarity before switching back to a blank expression immediately. Andar noticed, however, and blushed. He corrected himself, "my lord, we can't just leave the Lady to her own devices, where's your chivalry? She's also your cousin!"

"Fine," Arryn whined, "but on the condition that I no longer have to marry. Uncle Yohn wants that whore Rhea as my bride."

Podrick's mouth fell open, but Andar spoke first. "My lord, that's my niece you're talking about."

Arryn at least had the decency to blush. "I'm sorry."

"My lord," Podrick cut in, "Lord Royce just wants what's best for you and the Vale. Rhea is a very pretty girl and I'm sure she can give you many sons."

"I don't care about any of that," Arryn replied, stomping on the floor. "If she's so pretty and can have many sons, why don't you fuck her?"

Podrick did his best to produce a smile. "I'm already married, my lord."

"To my cousin," Arryn said, still whiny, "another whore who's been married many times. I'm sure she won't mind if you..."

Podrick punched him. Robin dropped to the floor, crying, and Andar Royce raised the training sword. Without missing a beat, Podrick grabbed the blunt weapon and pushed it upwards with all his strength, hitting Andar square in the forehead. The knight too fell to the floor, groaning in pain, while Podrick grabbed Robin by the collar and dragged him inside. No wonder Royce looked so weak and tired. Once they were in private, he slammed the lord of the Vale against a wall, causing another pained yelp.

"My lord," Podrick's voice was eerily calm. "I don't really care if the sparring swords are not the only ones you and that knight of yours are playing with. I do care about my wife, I won't have you disrespecting her and I won't have you breaking faith by not sending reinforcements. You don't want to marry? Fine, but you shall write a will establishing who's to inherit the Eyrie upon your death; we don't need the Vale in civil war. Royce will help you with selecting an heir. Are we understood?"

Arryn was still crying and looking at Podrick with absolute fear. He nevertheless nodded just as Andar Royce walked in.

"Lord Payne!" Andar was furious, brandishing a sword, a real sword. "Striking the Lord of the Vale within the Eyrie is punishable by death!"

Podrick let Robin slide to the floor and unsheathed Night. "I've already apologized to the Lord of the Vale, Ser Royce. You can be certain he's in no danger from me."

Andar looked from Pod to Robin, who nodded weakly. Still angry, he sheathed his sword and went to help his liege lord stand up. Podrick sheathed Night again.

"What happened here?" It was Yohn Royce, back from the rookery. He was followed by Rhea Redfort and another girl, who were looking at the scene with curiosity. Royce, oddly enough, was smirking.

"No... nothing happened, Uncle Yohn," Robin said, trying to cover his tears.

Royce looked from his liege lord, who was still leaning on his son for support, to Podrick. The two girls exchanged whispers and looked at Podrick, giggling. Pod raised his eyebrows and blushed despite himself.

"I see. My lord, has lord Payne already told you about the problems in King's Landing?" Royce asked, still seeming greatly amused by the situation.

"Yes, Uncle, we must send the Knights there," Robin said after breathing deeply.

"Already done, my lord," Royce informed, bowing. "Lord Payne, I take it you'll stay here until tomorrow? The first company won't arrive to the Bloody Gate until then."

"I really wish to return to King's Landing, my lord," Pod said, "but I guess it's getting late, I wouldn't make it to an inn before nightfall. I'll stay."

The two girls giggled again. During supper, Podrick found himself sitting next to Rhea.

"My lord, I feel like you're not paying attention to me," she said after the tenth time Pod deflected her attempts at striking conversation. He wouldn't mind talking to her, but she kept trying to steer the conversation towards the rumors about him.

Dropping all pretense, she put a hand on his thigh, dangerously high. Pod stood up abruptly, to the surprised looks of everyone else in the head table.

"I apologize, my lords, my ladies. I think I will have an early night," he stammered as he left the table.

That night, he and his hand missed Sansa the most.


	11. Rosby Road

Podrick fell to the floor face first, one of Squire's legs having just been amputated by one very acrobatic Dothraki rider. He needed to move, but he couldn't just leave Squire to suffer. Making an effort to sit up, he slashed the horse's throat with Night, trying to ignore the weight he felt in the pit of his stomach. Standing up, he looked around him, raising Night just in time to parry the returning Dothraki's arakh. He retreated towards a group of Knights of the Vale that had come to his rescue.  
  
Screams, both in Dothraki and Common tongue, filled his ears as he surveyed the situation: The knights were successfully pushing towards the northeastern gates of King's Landing, but the closer they got, the more Dothraki and Reachmen ranks diverted their attention from the Walls to the Valemen, compromising the reinforcements Podrick had brought. They were going to be massacred if Jorah and Tyrion didn't do something from inside soon.  
  
One of the knights near him fell dead, with an arrow sticking out his throat, but Podrick didn't have time to do anything about it for the same Dothraki screamer, who evidently had it out for him, came charging again. This time he was ready. He jumped away from the horse and stuck Night out, cleanly amputating the Dothraki's left leg using the rider's own momentum. The man screamed and fell from the horse, and one knight summarily executed him.

Pod was having trouble with making himself heard and organizing the soldiers around him. Chaos was everywhere.  
  
"Retreat! Back to the main block!" He yelled before having to dodge an overhead strike from a Reach soldier, he then stabbed the man on the side.  
  
"Shields!" Marwyn Belmore screamed. Pod ran towards the voice; he and Belmore were the appointed commanders of the Vale forces and they would fall apart even faster if they were separated.  
  
"Any word from inside the City?" Pod yelled upon reaching Belmore.  
  
"No, my lord. I was hoping you had." Belmore answered. The older man seemed tired and had to rely on soldiers near him to deliver his orders. Pod, for his part, kept running from one company to the next, preventing breaches in their ranks and dodging arrows.

Their idea had originally been that the Vale reinforcements were going to act as a distraction for the assaulting army, to allow the soldiers from inside the wall to get out so they could trap the assaulters between two fronts. They had underestimated the Dothraki's maneuverability, for the riders had mostly just moved out of the Knights of the Vale's way. Now Belmore's forces were surrounded near the city gates after suffering heavy losses from constant attacks on their sides. The reinforcements were now essentially part of the besieged, only trapped in the wrong side of the walls. To make matters worse, the commanders inside hadn't expected the Dothraki to act so fast, for they still hadn't reacted even though they were in position to start a counterattack.

"Shields!" Pod repeated Belmore's earlier command. Just in time, a group of shieldmen formed around him to prevent what would have been a devastating charge by some Dothraki riders. "Spears!"

A group of spearmen pierced, between the shields, against the horses pushing at them, causing several of the Dothraki to drop and the others to fall back. Podrick saw then that some of the retreating Dothraki, in their frenzy, attacked the Reach soldiers near them, apparently confusing them with the Valemen.

"Push forward!" Pod yelled, determined to take advantage of the impromptu distraction. Many Dothraki and Reachmen took too long to turn around, like he expected, and were skewered by the spiked wall of shields and spears. Pod allowed himself a small victorious smile, but it was short-lived.  
  
Upon reorganizing, a group of Reachmen attacked the shields closest to Pod, trying to breach. One Reach soldier passed through but Podrick blocked his way, parried his sword by cutting his hand clean, and then stabbed him in the upper leg. One Vale shieldman managed to replace the one that had been felled just in time to prevent the line from falling into chaos. Podrick looked around him again and noticed that they were almost completely surrounded now, and they had lost a lot of the cavalry. They were going to die.

"With me!" He yelled in encouragement of the vanguard company, who were using their shields to keep advancing relentlessly towards the city walls; Pod himself killed three men, in quick succession, who were trying to jump above the shield wall.  
  
"The River Gate!" Pod heard someone scream while he was moving a dead spearman out of the way. He dared to take a look.  
  
Indeed, the southeastern gates were finally open and a group of crownlanders were pouring out, attacking the Dothraki in front of them. The relief was immediately felt around his units, as many of the attacking soldiers turned around and went south, but Pod's forces were still on the border of getting overwhelmed.  
  
"My lord!" Belmore screamed once Podrick, in his constant runs back and forth, was near him again. Pod stopped to look at him. "I don't think this is going to work, we're outnumbered! We're near the Iron Gate, we should try to get into the city and weather the siege with them!"  
  
Podrick kept stealing looks at the mud gates while shouting encouragement to his men and, indeed, the sortie there was quickly being beaten back into the city. Soon they would have to close those gates again. They could have given a crippling defeat to the Dothraki threat and the Reach rebellion simultaneously if they won today, but the reality of the situation fell on him, heavy like a mountain: At least half of the Dothraki horde Daenerys Targaryen had brought from Essos was here. They were out of options.  
  
"You're right." Pod spoke, voice too low to be heard, at first. "You're right! RETREAT! RETREAT TOWARDS THE IRON GATE!"  
  
Upon hearing his command, the Dothraki and the Reachmen renovated their assault on the Knights of the Vale with a vengeance, determined not to let many reinforcements pass through the walls. The giant doors, thankfully, opened as soon as the coast was clear of the attacking armies. Belmore was doing his best to organize the soldiers so they would enter the city without causing chaos when a long arrow caught him in the gut. For a moment, it seemed like it'd fall on Pod to organize the movements, but then Jorah Mormont's voice came from inside the city, shouting orders. With him, many shieldmen poured out of the gates to lend cover to the Valemen.  
  
The men went into the city in units, mostly in order, while using their shields to protect themselves from the repeated arrow volleys. From the battlements, the defenders were trying to deter the attackers with their own bows. Blood was flying everywhere and the screaming was deafening. Podrick helped moving Belmore inside and went out again, leading the last shield lines in their organized retreat. Many of them died, but their relentlessness in preventing breaches allowed Mormont to close the Iron Gate on time.

As soon as the wall was secure again, Pod dropped to the floor and threw up; the exhaustion was clinging to his body like an iron weight. He was covered head to toe in mud and blood and his ears were ringing from the screaming, while his throat was sore from his own yelling. At least the enemies seemed to have paused the attack, probably to reorganize after the Vale's intrusion, so he tried to rest for a bit.

"Fuck..." He muttered, face on the dirt and eyes closed.

"Lord Protector," Mormont's voice came from in front of him.

Pod rolled on his back and saw Jorah extending an arm towards him. Pod had half a mind to tell him to fuck off and let him sleep on his own vomit, but ultimately accepted the hand and, with a titanic effort, stood back up.

"Ser Jorah," he said as greeting. After taking several heavy breaths, he spoke again, "How are things looking?"

"Better than a couple of hours ago," Jorah said, "I don't think the River Gate was going to withstand much longer. You distracted them long enough to let us reorganize the defense."

"Good." Pad had his hands on his knees, still breathing shallowly.

They saw Brienne of Tarth approaching from the south in a horse. She seemed fine, with only a few blood stains in her golden armor. Pod breathed a sigh of relief at that, even if he had been certain nothing would happen to her; it'd take much more than a Dothraki horde to take down his former master.

She climbed down from her horse and bowed respectfully. "Ser Jorah. Lord Podrick, it's good to see you again."

Pod smiled ruefully. It seemed like he was never going to convince her not to bow to him just because etiquette demanded it. He felt weird not bowing to her, in fact.

"Lady Commander," he greeted, "how are things in the mud gate?"

"A little less dire than this morning; Lord Tyrion was sure the gates were going to give in before you drawed enough attackers here," Brienne informed.

"Lord Tyrion?" He repeated, looking from Jorah to Brienne.  
  
"He's in the battlements of the River Gate, I left him in charge over there while I came here to help you get inside. He disobeyed me," Jorah said, frowning and smiling at the same time. "I wanted to hold until you were closer to the gate, so you could get in more easily, but he told me to 'fuck it'. He ordered the sortie, thinking you were about to be overrun."  
  
"Probably not yet, but almost," Pod said, breathing hard and smiling, "I'm glad he did it."

"Me too," Brienne agreed, "I was starting to fear that I wouldn't get to fight. I told him to let me lead the sortie."

Just then the screaming outside intensified. Evidently the attackers were done reorganizing and ready to restart the assault.  
  
"I suppose I should take some ranks of the Knights of the Vale to the south, to increase their numbers," Podrick said, raising his voice slightly.  
  
Jorah nodded and procured him a horse. He was thankful that Brienne was the one to talk to the Valemen and lead them south; he wasn't on the spirit to start screaming and leading again just yet. He merely rode next to them towards the River Gate, trying his best to ignore the pained yells and dying rattles all around him.  
  
"My lord," Tyrion Lannister greeted from the battlements upon seeing the company, "I see you've brought friends."  
  
"My lord," Pod answered, trying not to look up for it made him feel dizzy, "sadly we lost many of them on the way here."

"Aye, but so did the enemy," Tyrion complimented with a smile. Pod managed a smile in return. "And now that you've succeeded in getting reinforcements into the city, and by going through the enemy forces no less, we might encourage more lords to send garrisons."

"Indeed," Brienne interjected, "now go rest for a bit, my lord."

Podrick frowned. "And what about the defense?"

"We can handle ourselves without you for a while, Podrick." Tyrion raised his eyebrows. "Even more now that you've boosted our numbers. Go wash up, I'm sure your wife wants to see you before a stray arrow gets you."

Podrick gulped. Before turning away, he addressed one of the knights that came with him, "Ser Egen, may I trust you to keep communication with the other knights in the Iron Gate and to inform Ser Jorah, Lord Tyrion and Lady Brienne of the numbers and provisions you have left and will need?"

The knight doffed his helmet before answering, "Aye, my lord, I'll get right on that."  
  
Tyrion and Brienne nodded at Pod, who nodded back with a rueful smile before starting a slow ride towards the Red Keep.


	12. The Wolf of King's Landing

After he had left the horse in the stables, he proceeded towards the Tower of the Hand, where he knew the ladies of the court were being held for their protection. He would wash up afterwards and hoped that the ladies didn't mind his dirty countenance. Ser Remun Rykker, of the Kingsguard, was stationed in front of the door.

The knight looked Pod up and down, twisting his nose. "My lord."

Podrick just stared back at him with half-lidded eyes. "Ser."

After a moment, the man stepped aside, allowing Podrick entrance. Pod nodded at him with a half-smile before going inside. The ladies were in prayer, led by Sansa; until the woman closest to him, surely noticing the smell, looked up and exclaimed, "Lord Protector!"

Sansa's eyes snapped open and she smiled brightly before standing up, with the effort her belly demanded, and walking towards him. She opened her arms to embrace him, until seemingly realizing he was covered in blood and dirt, so she stepped back. "My lord, you look terrible."

"Aye, my lady, I've seen better days. At least I got reinforcements inside the city," he replied, mustering a small smile.

"So I heard. How was my cousin?" She asked

"He was... well," he said, looking away and unable to prevent the blush that crept to his cheeks. He took a step closer, not missing her twisting her nose, and whispered in her ear, "But I feel we should discuss certain matters on him in private."

Sansa met his eye and he raised his eyebrows. She seemed to get the message and didn't press further, at least not in front of half of the court.

"I understand," she said, frowning slightly. "Well, I'm sure you want to clean up and rest for a while. Or are you going back to the walls right away?" She added, seeming worried.

"Ser Mormont and Lord Lannister recommended me to rest for a while, so that's what I'm gonna do, if you don't mind," he informed.

"I'd be most gl..." She was smiling before her eyes widened and she looked down.

Podrick followed her gaze and noticed a small but expanding stain on her dress, up her left leg. Their eyes snapped up at the same time and they looked at each other intently.

"It's... it's..." He couldn't find his words.

"It's time," she whispered.

The ladies near her heard and repeated her words. Myriah, Jon's wet nurse, jumped up, holding him in her arms. "It's time! My lady!" She yelled, passed the King to the woman nearest her and ran to the door.

"You!" She yelled at Rykker. "Go get midwives and the Grand Maester! The Lady Regent has gone into labor!"

"But... what? How?" The knight asked stupidly.

"Are you a fool? Is that why you chose to forgo women? Run, you dull boy!" The woman yelled at him again, before slamming the door. Podrick would have chuckled if he weren't extremely pale and looking at Sansa, holding her arm, giving support. Or maybe he was using her arm to support himself. It was hard to tell.

"My lady," Myriah said, taking full command of her role as matron, "this chamber is not an appropriate place to give birth. We're going to have to move you to Lord Tyrion's room, at least it has a bed."

"But, I can't!" Sansa exclaimed, she seemed on the border of tears. "The siege! I have to be here to get information and impart orders!"

"My lady," Myriah said, placing an arm on Sansa's shoulder and squeezing gently. "I'm sorry that the babe couldn't wait any longer, but this _literally_ won't wait for you and your duties."

"Why would it matter?!" Sansa seemed to be entering a hysterical state. "If the siege is lost, the babe will be killed anyway."

Pod felt a shudder running from head to toe at her words and, no longer caring about his unclean state, enveloped her in his arms and looked her right in the eye. "Sansa, listen to me. Brienne, Jorah, Tyrion and I won't let the walls fall. The siege won't succeed and you will be safe. I will fight to my dying breath if that's what it takes."

Sansa's eyes widened in fear at his last sentence and Myriah interjected, "My Lord! I don't think your talk about dying is going to help the situation!"

He cringed. "I'm... I'm sorry, I won't die, I will meet my son! But for that we need you to be calm. Don't worry, we can handle ourselves without you for a few hours."

He tried to smile and Sansa looked at him for a long moment, before closing her eyes and breathing deeply. "Alright, I trust you. But you better be here to name him," she sentenced, frowning and smiling nervously.

Pod was about to answer when Sansa doubled over and let out a low groan. The pain had started. Podrick grabbed her arm and the small of her back to prevent her falling to the floor.

"My lady!" Myriah exclaimed.

"I'm well," Sansa declared. "Let's go to the Hand's room. Tyrion will have to forgive me."

Podrick had half of a mind to carry her there, but that would probably hurt her. Instead, he walked her by putting her right arm across his shoulders, trying to put all her weight on him. Just as they reached the door, Sansa let out another cry of pain.

"Gods!" She exclaimed.

"We're almost there," Pod whispered, letting her inside the room.

"I know," she snapped, her eyes frantic and her breathing shallow. Podrick couldn't blame her for her short temper right then.

Just as Myriah helped Sansa sit on the bed, the Grand Maester, three midwives and two servants carrying a large basin of water came into the room. Silas examined Sansa and declared that she was well, in the right conditions for childbirth and going along alright.

"That's great news," Myriah said, voice dripping in sarcasm. "Now, all you men, out! We'll let you, Grand Maester, inside if something happens. Now, you," she addressed the midwives while Pod, Silas and the two servants hurried out of the room. "Help me wash the Lady, her husband has gotten her all dirty and that could make the babe sick..."

The door closed then and nothing could be heard anymore, other than Sansa's intermittent cries of pain.

"You should wash up too, my lord," Silas said. "Myriah is right in that you can't hold the babe, when he comes, covered in blood and mud."

Podrick nodded, as if on a trance, and ran as fast as he could towards his chambers, in the other side of the castle, forgetting his earlier exhaustion. He removed his armor and sword, leaving them lying on the floor, and washed up. He didn't want his son to be sick so he took his time, scrubbing every inch of his skin thoroughly. Once he deemed himself clean enough, he put on the first breeches and tunic he found and ran back to the Tower of the Hand.

Just as he was near enough to hear Sansa's screams again, he was intercepted by a soldier.

"Lord Protector!" The man yelled.

"What is it?" He asked, not stopping.

"Milord, a division of the attacking forces are approaching the Dragon Gate. Ser Mormont asked me to come fetch you so that you could lead the defense of that Gate."

Podrick stopped and turned towards the man. "I... I can't..."

"Milord?" The soldier asked, alarmed. As if on cue, another bloodcurdling scream came from Tyrion's room.

"Sansa is... The Lady Regent is in labor," Pod explained unnecessarily. "Did nobody inform you at the walls?"

"I'm... I'm not sure, milord," the man said, looking from Pod to the corner of the hall from where the sound had come.

"Why can't Brienne lead that defense?" Podrick asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I shall ask, milord!" The soldier declared and turned away.

Shaking his head and feeling an increasingly heavier weight in his stomach, Podrick doubled the corner to find Silas alone. The Grand Maester was looking at the door as if it were a very interesting book.

"How are things going?" Pod asked, turning to look at the door too. Before Silas could respond, the door opened slightly and one of the midwives peered out. Both men tensed.

"Myriah asked me to inform you that things are going well," she whispered. "The Lady is opening well and soon the babe will come."

Not waiting for an answer, nor caring at Pod's blushing, she closed the door again. The wait continued, with Sansa's yells becoming increasingly frequent.

"Milord!" It was the same soldier from earlier. Podrick jumped up and looked at the approaching man, resisting a sudden urge to throttle him.

"What is it?" He asked, gritting his teeth.

"The Lady Commander had wanted to lead sorties and fight on the frontlines but, upon hearing of Lady Sansa, has acquiesced to lead that defense." The man then tried to smile, but thought better of it upon seeing Pod's expression. "She and Ser Mormont wish Lady Stark a painless birth and a healthy babe."

No sooner he had said those words as Sansa let out the loudest scream so far. All three men flinched and the soldier excused himself before running away as fast as his legs could take him, evidently preferring not to be there one moment longer than necessary.

The Sun had dipped below the mountains when a soldier, a different one, came running to inform him that the assaults had stopped for the day.

"That's good to hear. Still, Stannis Baratheon attacked the city during the night, we can't be too careful," Pod said.

"I'll let them know, milord." The soldier bowed and turned back. Just as the man doubled the corner, the door opened. It was then that Podrick noticed that the screaming had stopped.

Myriah stepped out and smiled tiredly. "He's here, my lord. The Lady is well too."

Podrick felt lighter than he had all day and let out a strangled sound, half a sob and half a chuckle.

Silas smiled too. "I'm glad to hear that. My lord, you might want to go inside to your wife. I must examine the babe afterwards."

Podrick nodded and, feeling as if he was about to fall off a precipice, walked into the room. He tried to ignore the basin of bloody water that the midwives were currently moving to a corner and approached the bed. Sansa was there, smiling at the bundle in her arms. She looked visibly tired, yet her eyes and her smile spoke of nothing other than unadulterated affection and tenderness. Podrick knew that he would remember that expression, the whole picture really, including the bed, for the rest of his life.

Feeling as if an eternity had passed, he finally made it to Sansa's side and looked at the babe. His own dark eyes looked back at him, from below a patch of equally dark hair. His breath caught in his throat.

"He's you," Sansa whispered. "You remade."

He kissed her temple, burying his face on her hair. He wept then, unable to hold it any longer. "Thank you," he sobbed.

She moved her head to meet his gaze, her own eyes brimming with happy tears, and kissed him lightly. "No, thank _you_ ," she whispered.

They both looked back at the babe, whose eyes were slowly closing, obviously tired after his great ordeal. Carefully, not wanting to wake him, Sansa passed the babe to his arms.

His son, he was holding his son. He passed a finger lightly across the babe's tiny cheek, and the boy fuzzed, but didn't wake up. Feeling bold, he brought him close to his face and gave a light kiss to the babe's forehead. Once again, the boy didn't wake up. He could already see himself teaching this small boy how to ride, how to hold a sword, the little he knew about politics, the troubles a knight often went through, the trappings of power, and how those affected the powerless. He was going to teach this boy everything he knew, and hoped that that would make him an honest man. He smirked at the realization that he would have to give him tips on how to please the ladies too. Finally, he thought of the day he would give him Night for him to wield, already deciding it would be his wedding gift. But for now, he was content with just holding him, and determined to enjoy the few years he would get to do that.

"What's his name?" Sansa asked after a moment.

Pod widened his eyes. "You're Lady Stark, you ought to name him."

"I'm giving him my last name, that's more than enough for me," she said, leaning her head on Pod's shoulder.

Pod looked at the babe again. He thought of Ser Lorrimer, the first master who treated him like a person. He thought of Tyrion, who was always kind. He thought of Bronn, who was also kind on his own way. He thought of Brienne, who taught him how to defend himself and how to be a proper knight. He thought of Jon Snow, his late liege lord.

"Damn, this is difficult," he noted, half smiling. Sansa only chuckled in response. "There's always a Brandon in every Stark generation, correct?"

"Yes," she answered, arching an eyebrow. He noticed then that she was struggling to stay awake.

"Well... No need to hurry, the next one can be Brandon," he said with a cheeky smile, eliciting another tired chuckle.

Finally, he thought of his father, who married for love; who, for the sake of his son and his wife, chose to squire for better cousins. His father, who died a squire, protecting said cousins. His father, whose memory wasn't respected by the woman he loved.

Finally, he whispered, "Alyn."

"I like it," Sansa said, staring at her son. "Alyn of Houses Payne and Stark."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like using notes, but I'll make an exception this once. Pod's father's name is a shout-out to one of the best series of fics I've read, titled "A Squire" ([link](https://archiveofourown.org/series/445018)).


	13. Banners

"'Houses Payne and Stark'?" Pod asked after composing himself, her words having caught him by surprise.

"I'll explain to you once I've had some rest," Sansa answered, smiling tiredly. Before he could protest, the Grand Maester came into the room.

"My lady, my lord, I believe I've given you enough private time to get yourselves acquainted with your child. Now I'm afraid I need to examine the lady and the babe, before the candles run out," Silas informed.

Pod looked at Sansa with a slight frown, but she only nodded.

"Alright, but we need to talk about this tomorrow," he said as he stood up, still holding the babe, whom he then passed to the Grand Maester. Pod was unable to hold back a proud smile, as if he was the one who had just given birth.

"Does he have a name?" Silas asked, smiling at the infant.

"Alyn Stark Payne," Sansa said from the bed.

The Grand Maester arched an eyebrow but otherwise made no comment. Pod looked at Sansa one last time, trying to beseech her to explain, but she only nodded towards the door before closing her eyes and moving on the pillows, trying to get comfortable. Sighing, Pod walked out and went to his chambers. The exhaustion of the day finally caught up to him and he fell asleep immediately after lying on his bed.

There is a wolf and he's in the middle of a forest; it's a female wolf, and she's nursing a litter. Before he can count exactly how many pups there are, the wolf disappears and then it's cold; the forest is suddenly frozen, covered in snow and... eyes, blue eyes, frozen blue eyes, all around him. People are screaming, and he's in a battle, fighting against the beings with blue eyes, using two obsidian daggers. He manages to fall one, but then it's one of _them_ , tall, its skin white as death and it raises its sword, ready to kill him. Then another wolf, a white wolf, pushes the monster away and he screams, throwing one of the daggers at the creature, which explodes into ice. But then the ice turns into sweat, and dirt, and suddenly it's not so cold anymore. And there are horses, hundreds of horses all around him, and screaming. And he fights, because he must, and there's blood and death...

He woke up with a start. Before remembering where he was, he heard knocking at the door.

"Milord Protector!" A young male voice came from the door.

He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He then looked at the window and noticed that it was already morning. Heaving a sigh, he stood up and walked to the door; a boy, probably thirteen or fourteen, was there.

"What is it?" He asked, his voice coarse.

"Milord," the boy said as he bowed. "Ser Jorah Mormont told me to come fetch you. He says he's happy that you're now a father, but that all hands we have are needed at the walls."

"Alright," Pod said after clearing his throat. "Tell him I'll be down there after I've checked on my wife and my son."

"At once, milord," the errand boy bowed again and turned to leave.

"Oy, lad!" Podrick called before the boy got too far. The boy turned towards him, seeming afraid, and Pod smiled trying to look reassuring. "What's your name?"

"Yenn, milord," the boy answered, staring at the floor.

"Nice to meet you, Yenn. Hey, on your way out, could you please tell a couple of servants in the castle to come here? I need my armor cleaned. Wait a moment." He went back inside to fetch a silver stag, which he tossed to the boy.

"Thank you, milord!" The boy exclaimed, sporting a huge smile while he bowed so deeply he almost touched his knees with his nose. Pod chuckled before closing the door.

He washed himself and pulled on underpants and undershirt while the servants cleaned his armor as fast as they could; afterwards, they helped him put it on. Once he was ready, he walked towards the Tower of the Hand, clasping Night to his belt.

Sansa was feeding Alyn, and Myriah was next to her, talking animatedly. The basin with bloody water had been replaced with a smaller, clean one, and the sheets and Sansa's shift were also fresh.

"Are you certain, my lady?" Myriah asked, looking surprised.

"Yes. Thank you, Myriah, but I will nurse my son, and all other children the Gods choose to bless me with, by myself," Sansa declared as Pod reached the bed.

"That's highly unusual, my lady, but very commendable," Myriah said.

"Thank you, Myriah. Now, if you'll excuse us, my husband is dying to discuss something with me and I can't put it off any longer." Sansa smirked at Pod while she said that.

"Of course. My lady, my lord," Myriah bid goodbye as she curtsied. Pod nodded to her and smiled as she left out the door.

For a moment neither of them said anything, both distracted by Alyn. The boy was nursing with enthusiasm, making cooing sounds every now and then. Pod traced a finger across his tiny cheek.

"Does it hurt?" He asked.

"Now you're the one delaying," Sansa chuckled. "Not really, though I can't say it's entirely comfortable."

"So... Houses of Payne and Stark?" Pod arched an eyebrow.

Sansa smirked, happy to know something he didn't. "Haven't you wondered why I had the handle of your sword prepared with a chequy instead of a single wolf's head like, say, Longclaw?"

"I did want to ask you about that that day, but there were other things going on," Pod answered.

"There's a box below the bed, can you open it?" She asked.

Pod knelt down and, indeed, there was a square but thin box below the bed, its length roughly that of his forearm. He opened it as he sat back on the bed, only to find the Stark banner -a grey wolf on a white field- inside.

"It's your banner," Pod said. He looked at Sansa, trying to see if her expression revealed what the mystery was about.

She made a small gesture of discomfort while she moved their son a bit, trying an easier position, before speaking. " _Our_ banner. Unfold it."

He did just that. The wolf head on white had just been one corner of the full banner. In reality, it was four wolf heads: the top left and bottom right were grey on white, the other two were the opposite colors. Except not, the contrast of the wolf heads made him notice that what he initially saw as white was, in fact, a very, very pale purple; the grey, on the other hand, was actually a very neutralized, darker violet.

He looked back at Sansa, frowning. "I don't understand."

"You're the father of a new House," Sansa explained. "It just didn't feel right not having something of your old house's heraldry with us, going forward."

He widened his eyes and looked intently at the Lady, opening his mouth several times just to close it again.

Sansa smiled and, after carefully placing Alyn fully on her right arm, extended her left hand to trace a finger over one of the wolf heads. "Our children will still be wolves, but they will have some of the purple of their father's banner. And a quarterly seemed to me a good compromise between your chequy and the traditional field of the Stark banner."

He looked back at the flag, "That's... that's incredible, Sansa. It's more than I deserve, I really never expected anything more than to father the next generation of Starks."

He thought back to his last prayer in front of a weirwood, but Sansa needn't know about that. She seemed to read his mind, however, for she arched an eyebrow, "Really? You're a great man, Podrick, I want our descendants to know that."

He stared at her and spoke slowly, "I see, it's not only the banner. The style you're giving Alyn is another way to let them know that."

She held his gaze and said, "Indeed, his formal name is Alyn of Houses Payne and Stark. His colloquial name is to be Alyn Stark Payne, as I'm sure you noticed."

He silently repeated the names to himself and they sounded almost too good to be true. Finally, he asked, "And what does that mean?"

"That I decided that the Martells were a good example in naming," Sansa answered with a smirk.

Podrick looked at her for a moment, he finally saw where she was going. "So all our descendants are to have Stark as a family name -much like 'Nymeros' in Dorne- and Payne as a last name, like 'Martell'?"

"Correct," Sansa confirmed, looking back at Alyn. He had finally stopped nursing and was falling asleep.

"And you think the Northern lords will be alright with that?" Pod asked, trying not to let any excitement show in his voice or face.

Sansa shrugged. "Stark will still be part of both of his names; they technically wouldn't be wrong in calling him 'Lord Stark', if they want." She then looked back at Podrick. "Nevertheless, I wanted to discuss it with you before telling anyone else about this -I even sewed that myself- so... what do you think?"

Careful not to budge Alyn, he kissed her deeply. Once he broke it, he put his forehead on hers and, eyes closed, spoke. "Thank you, Sansa Stark. I truly never expected anything like this, I really was happy with just being your husband and the father of your children. Knowing that they will have more than my blood in them, knowing that posterity will know is... I can't even put it into words. It's a pride I know I haven't earned."

"Stop saying that," she whispered, not moving her head and also with her eyes closed. "You're a brave knight, a gentle man and a strong battle commander. I couldn't think of a better person as my husband. That our children will carry your name -alongside that of my ancestors- makes me very proud."

"You're just sa..." Pod started to say, finally lifting his head and smiling timidly, but she interrupted.

"No, I'm not. Are you not all of those things? You fought the Army of the Dead, that is a testament to your bravery. The news I received of your maneuver yesterday with the Knights of the Vale tell me that you're a capable battle commander. And you're as gentle as a puppy." She said the last thing while she bumped his nose with a finger. After a pause, she smirked knowingly and added, "Outside of bed, of course."

Pod blushed and decided that trying to deny what she said again would just come across as false modesty. "Thank you, Sansa. I truly can't explain how much this all means to me. I hope I live up to your words."

"You already do," She said while he carefully folded the flag and put it back in the box. She frowned. "What are you doing?"

He smiled at her, "I'd love to take this to the battle and display it for all to see. But I think it's best to wait until you make it official."

She nodded, smiling back, and then gestured to his armor, "Speaking of the battle, I see you're already going back to the walls."

"Yes, I must go back there and see to help Ser Jorah," he informed, standing up.

Sansa grabbed his hand and motioned him to lean for another kiss. "Be safe. And please tell Jorah and Tyrion to keep me informed. I might have just given birth, but I'm still the Lady Regent."

He considered protesting by telling her she needed rest, but it really was not his place. So he simply promised he'd be careful, and to send updates every hour.

He walked to the door and, with one last look at his wife and son, he left.


	14. Storm's End

The siege was prolonging. Two months after the first assault, when hunger was starting to make itself known despite all of Lord Greyjoy's efforts with bringing supplies from everywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, Jorah Mormont summoned the entire Small Council.

"If we don't do something soon, we will have to start fighting the smallfolk as well as the invaders. There was a small riot yesterday; we managed to control it, but it seems to be a matter of time," Pod informed.

"Indeed," Ser Davos agreed. "As things go, we will run out of food within the next two months, despite the rationing."

"The loyal regions are not much better," Theon said. "The North is still recovering from the war; Lady Mormont and Lord Manderly have sent whatever they could, but they're running short. My sister sent what she could in a shipment, but my uncle's insane fleet idea left the Islands with many fewer trees and also short on supplies. Yara is focused on regrowing our small forests and establishing trade routes. The Stormlords haven't been able to send as much as they could; it's horribly difficult to navigate those waters and I've lost a few ships to the storms, but I shall keep doing my best."

"What about the Vale?" Sansa asked. She had ultimately relented to leaving Alyn with a wet nurse so that she could give complete focus to her duties. She still vowed to feed him every night and every morning and hadn't failed.

"Lord Grafton has sent some supplies the couple of times I visited Gulltown, but it's always too little. The second time, some of the food was rotten," Theon answered, frowning.

"The word from the Eyrie," Bronn informed, "is that the idiot Arryn was content with sending some of his army here and doesn't seem too keen on sending anything else."

"I think it would be prudent relocating the King and the Lady Regent to Dragonstone, as a safety measure," Brienne said.

"No," Sansa said, frowning at the table. "I mean, yes, that's not a bad idea in regards to the King. Please, Brienne, Theon, make arrangements for moving the King and two Kingsguard, with some of the guard and supplies, to Dragonstone. I will go to the Eyrie and speak to my cousin in person. Lord Tyrion, you're in charge of the city until then."

"Are you sure, my lady?" Tyrion asked. "There's the possibility that Arryn is too far gone and won't listen to you either."

"What do you think, Podrick?" Sansa addressed Pod.

"It's too difficult to tell, my lady. He acquiesced to send his knights, but he still seems more like a bratty boy than a man grown and a lord," Pod informed.

"I heard that you punched him," Bronn said, causing every head to snap towards Pod, who blushed.

"He insulted the Lady," Pod said in a low voice. "In my defense, that was before he sent the knights and it seemed it helped to convince him."

Sansa allowed herself a small smile before turning serious again. "Well, let's hope that's not the reason he feels sore and is not sending more supplies."

"Indeed," Mormont cut in. "But in the meantime, we need far more than supplies, we need reinforcements."

"What happened with the Riverlands garrisons?" Lord Tyrion asked. "I thought that Tully had promised to send whoever he could."

"Tully did," Bronn said. "But his bannermen are reluctant to send what's left of their armies south, they're also short on commanders."

"What about the Stormlords?" Sam asked "Are Lord Baratheon and Lady Stark still reluctant on sending a garrison?"

"Indeed," Sansa answered. "Although they may acquiesce if we make them deliberately aware of how dire the situation is becoming. Ser Podrick, would you go to Storm's End? You did succeed in bringing the Knights of the Vale, like you said."

"Of course, my lady," Podrick answered. He wasn't overly fond of being away from his son that long so he thought about staying for a moment but, frankly, bringing reinforcements again would help their situation even more than contributing to the defense. Plus Sansa wasn't pregnant now so he wasn't as worried about being separated, and she would keep Alyn safe.

"That ties into a plan I have, my lady," Jorah said. "Lord Tarly, would you be willing to go South with Lord Payne?"

"What? Why?" Sam asked. Pod almost asked the same thing before looking at Tyrion and Sansa, who were looking at Mormont with intrigued expressions.

"Because it would help to convince Lord Baratheon and Lady Stark, I think; and because, if they are indeed convinced, I don't want their armies to come to King's Landing," Jorah said.

Sansa raised her eyebrows. "A daring plan, Ser Jorah."

Indeed it was, if Mormont wanted to do what Pod had suddenly understood.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," Samwell said, frowning. He and the Grand Maester seemed to be the only ones in the table still out of the loop.

"Mormont wants the Stormlords to attack the Reach, and as you have the strongest claim to Highgarden as the last scion of the Tyrells' foremost bannermen, you need to be there," Tyrion informed. "Isn't that right, Mormont?"

"Indeed, my lord. One way to lift the siege earlier is attacking the assaulters' rear. If we take Highgarden, their supply chain will be broken," Mormont concluded.

"I see." Tarly nodded. "But how are we to get to Storm's End anyway? The Dothraki are blocking all the southern gates."

That did seem to pose a problem. Everyone was silent until Sansa spoke, "Lord Greyjoy, Shipbreaker Bay is treacherous and you have already had trouble there, but do you think you can brave those waters one more time?"

Greyjoy nodded. "Aye, Sansa, I shall."

"Keep in mind that this cargo is much more important," Sansa said, sparing a glance in Pod's direction. He smiled and almost blushed, but managed to keep the red from his face.

"Even if it takes me having to personally row them there in my last ship, I will get them to Storm's End," Theon promised, nodding gravely.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Sam said despondently, earning a chuckle from all around the table.

"As for the Riverlords," Tyrion said. "We should also send them a commander, if that's what they need."

"I can do it," Brienne said.

"It's settled, then," Tyrion said, summarizing. "Mormont, Bronn, Ser Davos and I will stay in King's Landing handling the defense. Lord Greyjoy will arrange transport for the Lady Regent to the Eyrie, for the King to Dragonstone and for Lords Tarly and Payne to Storm's End. Lady Brienne will go to Riverrun."

"What about Alyn?" Pod asked, looking at Sansa, who looked back at him with an expression that told him that she had been thinking about their son too. "Will he go to Dragonstone or to the Eyrie?"

He tried not to emphasize Dragonstone too much -not wanting their son to travel so far by sea- but the decision was Sansa's.

Sansa breathed deeply, steeling herself. "Dragonstone."

Pod nodded and then looked at Ser Davos. "I think it would be wise to relax the food rationing for a while, to prevent riots. If we succeed, the siege will be lifted. If we fail, then... well."

"I think that's a good idea," Tyrion agreed, looking at Sansa. She nodded.

"It's settled, then. We must move as fast as possible and enact our parts in this quickly," Sansa sentenced. Afterwards, everything was arranged for every party to leave the city within the next few days. Pod and Sam themselves would be leaving the next day in Lord Greyjoy's flagship, _The Silence_.

Trying not to think about the possibility of drowning at Shipbreaker Bay -or the possibility of Arryn betraying Sansa- which would make that night their last together, Pod fucked Sansa like he hadn't since before she started showing. They coupled several times all throughout the night and, by the time the first crack of dawn came and it was time for him to leave, Sansa was riding him hard, almost clawing at his chest while he grabbed her hips, setting the pace. She reached her release just a moment before he did and she collapsed on top of him, both of them grunting the soreness in their bodies.

"I'm going to miss you," Sansa said between heavy breaths. Even if this wasn't a final goodbye, they would still be separated far longer this time; probably for months, depending on how long the siege of Highgarden would take.

"And I you," Pod said once he got his voice back. He gave her one last tender kiss before rolling her to his side and standing up. He washed up and got dressed quickly before walking towards his son's nursery and knocking lightly.

Valla, Alyn's wet nurse, answered. It was obvious in her countenance that she had been sleeping. "My lord protector," she said, curtsying.

"Valla, good morning," Pod greeted. "I just wanted to say goodbye to Alyn before I left."

"Of course, my lord," she said, opening the door completely and hurrying to cover herself with a blanket, as she was only wearing a shift.

Pod walked towards the small crib and looked inside: Alyn's black hair had grown and now the top of his head was completely black, while the redness from childbirth had given way to Pod's skin, not as pale as Sansa's; his son really was his splitting image. The boy was sleeping.

"Hey, little tyke," Pod said, tracing a finger over the babe's cheek, careful not to wake him up. "I'll be away for a while, and you'll be in Dragonstone. Protect the King for me, alright?"

The boy didn't move and Pod stood back straight, blinking several times as his sight had gone blurry. He nodded to Valla as goodbye and left the room.

Lord Greyjoy and Lord Tarly were already waiting for him at the docks by the time he made it there.

"My lords," Pod greeted.

"Lord Protector," both men said.

Sam smiled a complicit smile, while looking at a place just below Pod's left cheek. "I see I wasn't the only want bidding his wife farewell last night."

Pod blushed and a slight smirk lighted Theon's usually somber face. They all boarded and set sail shortly afterwards.

The journey was slow and torturous, in big part due to Grejoy's steadfast refusal to cross any of the many storms that formed in their journey. They were still caught once, and the winds almost threw the ship against a rocky beach; it was only thanks to Greyjoy's brilliant maneuver with the changing the direction of the sails at the last possible second that they weren't skewered by the rocky terrain. Even then, two men were thrown overboard and the rest of the crew silently mourned them once the storm passed.

Finally, three days after leaving King's Landing, with his favorite clothes drenched, and standing next to Tarly -who reeked of vomit- Pod saw Storm's End. The castle did not belie its age; much like Winterfell, it was evident that it had been standing for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. The waves and the storms had left their dent on it, making the west walls a very pale white, but the castle stood strong and resilient. It was obvious to Pod why it had never been taken: if the elements only abated on it with no success, men had little chance, at least from the sea.

They anchored in a makeshift dock that had been obviously thrown together very recently -there was no point in having a permanent dock as the storms would just destroy any ship resting in it- and, careful not to fall in the waters, which were restless even though the weather was calm, they walked towards the small southern gate of the castle.

Gendry Baratheon was waiting for them there, wearing a yellow vest with a black stag emblazoned on it. Pod smiled at seeing his old comrade from the war, but the smile died as soon as it appeared. Lord Baratheon didn't wear his usual cheerful smile and instead looked as if he had lived as long as his castle, a weariness in his expression and a frown that betrayed a deep misery. Greyjoy and Tarly evidently noticed too, for they stopped on their tracks at the same time as Podrick did.

"Lord Baratheon," Sam was the first one speaking. "It's good to see you."

"Milords," Gendry replied, his voice as heavy as his expression.

"Is something wrong?" Pod asked, trepidation growing in his chest. "Did you get a raven from King's Landing?"

Gendry shook his head, "No, milord. It's Arya."


End file.
